Sonata of the Spellbound
by A N Llewellyn
Summary: There are secrets to be revealed this final year. Hermione realizes that it will take her Potions Master to fill the void within her. Severus has a talent unknown to the world. Can he ever find his heart again? And more importantly, can Miss Granger lead
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing except for my original character, Yeva Parajanov, and the plot. Everything else belongs to the outstanding J. K. Rowling. I do not intend to violate copyright laws, or use her work for my own personal gain.

A/N: **IMPORTANT!** This is the edited version... I repeat... the EDITED version of "Sonata of the Spellbound." Sections have been removed in such a way that is unobtrusive to the storyline; however, if you wish to view the explicit version, go to Ashwinder at Even with the graphic details removed, this story is _still_ rated M, meaning it contains situations that are only appropriate for an audience of 18+. That in mind... enjoy.

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The light of a candelabrum gently flickered against the window, casting the surrounding room into chiaroscuro. A fire blazed in the hearth on the opposite wall illuminating the white marble floor. A small wooden clock marked the passage of time silently above the hearth, on the mantle. With its ivory walls and voluminous green window dressings, it overlooked the school's antique rose garden and was in perfect view of the Astronomy Tower. The yawning space between the enormous windows and the roaring fire was filled with the delicate resonance of a piano being expertly played. The vast room seemed to swallow its sole resident, whose identity seemed to share mystery with this room, the adjacent room to the resident Potions Master's bedchamber. It was one of the least visited, let alone known, places in Hogwarts Castle. 

People only assumed that he chose to live in the dungeons. And in the same breath, they also would assume he spent his time there inflicting pain on unsuspecting students. Yet, anyone observing this scene wouldn't believe that such opulence and beauty could belong to such a harsh man - especially anyone who thought they knew the real Professor Severus Snape.

For someone who was believed to be sadistic and heartless, Severus, although he would never admit it, was truly very lonely. To him, loneliness was equated with life. And according to him, it was a life far more than he deserved. After all, his days in the company of Voldemort had removed all of the beauty he would have appreciated in this room, and therefore, all this comfort meant nothing. His despair, and the sureness of a dark afterlife consumed the sad thoughts he was left with.

He truly loved Dumbledore, and he could not believe someone would be capable of loving him as Dumbledore did. And Dumbledore loved him, because he knew Snape had a heart, even though no one else may have been able to see it. Severus believed that Dumbledore was the reason he stayed alive. And to an extent, that was true. He owed Dumbledore his life. He spied for the Order of the Phoenix, living the life of a Death Eater only with a greater risk.

Severus pounded out a dissonant chord and his breath caught as he angrily remembered his confession to Dumbledore. His pleading... his tears...

_"Please, please forgive me, allow me to prove that I can be who you knew... please, Headmaster ... please..."_

_He fell to his knees before the old wizard, his own wounds oozing and the blood of his victims on his hands, as tears streamed down his face mixing with the salty red._

_"I can spy, Headmaster ... for the light ... please, let me help ..."_

The clock on the mantle violently struck seven, shattering what peace Severus had managed to gather around him. The feast was about to commence. Snape smeared a single tear from his face with his linen shirtsleeve. Forcing a sneer, he rose from the piano bench and cracked his neck and knuckles.

He muttered a curse as he was suddenly reminded of Harry Potter and his friends' return that night. At least it was their seventh and blessedly final year. He wouldn't have to put up with them much longer.

Taking a deep breath, he gave himself a once over in the full-length mirror leaning against the baby grand. He fastened the minute buttons on his overcoat and pant-cuffs with a flick of his wand. Sliding on his cloak, he sneered menacingly before turning swiftly away and striding toward the exit.

Before reluctantly exiting the portrait hole, he thrust his wand over his shoulder, extinguished the candles, and stepped through the enchanted painting. The giant portrait of Leonardo Da Vinci disappeared slowly into the ebony of the hall's wall, and Severus Snape made his way to the welcome feast.


	2. Welcomes at Twilight

Amber and fuchsia swirled, and dotted lavender clouds hung overhead. The sunset was brilliantly golden on the Hogwarts lake horizon. The thestrals had pulled the carriages along, and, without the nearly annual welcome rain, arrived a few minutes early. The older students stepped out of their coaches, sorting their things on the grass, and stretching their legs.

A few meters away, Harry Potter stood in the last moments of sunshine, reveling in the moment of…well a good moment when there was no dark threat to loom at him. The threat of war and Voldemort were far away at least for a time. At least for now. He unbuttoned his school robe a bit as the wind picked up. It billowed through his hair and cape and he was content. He had returned. He was home.

"Don't look so stoic," a playful voice sounded quietly behind him.

"Hermione." He breathed a deep breath of cool evening air and turned to her, green eyes shimmering a little in the twilight. His absence of fear and darkness disappeared as he admired her noble beauty. Every inch of her seemed to glow. She truly was no longer the nappy-haired headstrong know-it-all. She was beautiful. She had transformed, as he knew they all must have to some extent. But her kind chestnut eyes with their flecks of gold, her caramel hair, and her wide gleaming grin were enough for even him, her almost brother, to desire a little. He found that he couldn't ignore the lump in his throat, knowing that this beauty could dissolve through his fingers. Knowing that, like Sirius's death two years before, it would have been something he could have stopped… His vision clouded and he turned his face to the lawn. "I can't believe this is our last year together…"

"Oh Harry." She rested her hand on his shoulder. "Don't talk like it's the end. Even though… I know, the war. But, Harry, you know that after the hell we've been through, we'll always have a friendship that could outlast a thousand wars. And with Ron, that triples things." She laughed and playfully pushed him. He still avoided her gaze.

"Mione, it's too beautiful now." He lifted his eyes to the sky in an effort to keep the tears pooling in his eyes from falling. "Everything seems perfect. Dumbledore is in there right now, directing students and professors to their seats, setting music charms, and enjoying his pumpkin juice..." His voice rose with that determination she had seen displayed so many times before. The courage that awarded him Godric's sword was there, radiating around him. He was beautiful, how much he had changed. His hair brushing gently at his temple. His scar, he no longer tried to hide it, was even more visible in the dusk. She knew there was no changing the subject when he was on a roll like this.

"Little first years are playing exploding snap, losing house points, and looking forward to the next Quidditch match. It's not like our first year, and it never will be. People will die. Those little first years will die! We can't just go in there and take it as it comes anymore! We have to be prepared for the night to burst into flames! Voldemort could blast the bloody Great Hall to bits and we'd still be sitting there with our mouths full of roast duck. Like blubbering idiots, we wouldn't know what hit us…" Harry faltered a bit and cracked a smile at what he had just said. Before Hermione could speak to lighten the mood, he turned again to her. "I just, Mione, I wish people wouldn't rely on me as their only hero. I'm only one person…"

After a long silence, Hermione wrapped her arms around him from behind. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He was the closest to a brother she would ever get. He was her best friend, not like Ron, he was Ron. But this was Harry. And Harry was one of the best things that ever happened to her. "Harry, you are one very special person. And whether you know it or not you mean the world to me. I love you, I want you to remember that… always." She paused, thinking, "You'll beat that big death-eating bastard and I know it. We all know it. We have the utmost faith in you."

He turned then and seized her in an embrace he should have given her long before. Tears were streaming along his cheeks and she calmly rocked him in her arms. Behind them the castle loomed dark against the night. The light from the enormous windowpanes of the Great Hall was evident, as the last few students to be sorted could be seen queued next to Professor McGonagall, frightened and excited and noisy as a bunch of hippogriffs.

"Come on Harry, let's go and eat before they send Snape for us or something…" her smile faded a little at the thought of her despicable Potions professor. And fortunately that was all the encouraging Harry needed. After all they were both starved.

Hermione tied her hair in a ribbon as Harry summoned a house-elf at the main entrance to take their things to their rooms.

"—Erm, Head Girl rooms Tweeky," Hermione called after the stout little elf.

"Yessus miss."

Harry put a hand on hers stopping them before entering the Hall. "You know, sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you." He adjusted the frames of his hallmark glasses.

"And Harry Potter, I'd be lost without you." She smiled and slipped inside, murmuring something about her craving for Yorkshire pudding.

"I will never tire of Hogwarts food!" Ron exclaimed as he contentedly patted his stomach. The empty dinner plates in front of them had been instantly cleared and piles upon piles of desserts replaced them. Tarts and truffles, mile high ice cream sundaes, and puddings of all sorts made their way to the already stuffed stomachs of the students.

This year, the hall had been decorated even more intricately than in years past. The tapestries that bore the house crests were woven with metallic threads and glittered brightly, accenting the stars in the enchanted ceiling. A full moon shone brightly above the head table, where the immutable staff sat enjoying their dinners and talking amongst themselves. Professor Flitwick seemed to have acquired a taller chair, sitting comfortably without the aid of the infinite pile of old textbooks. Professor McGonagall was engaged in deep conversation with Professors Vector and Sinistra, something about the summer holiday. Hagrid and Professor Lupin, who had finally returned to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, were discussing the outcome of the year's Quidditch season whilst Dumbledore listened to everything intently with a grin of delightful satisfaction on his face.

The headmaster leaned to his left, over McGonagall's empty seat and inquired, "Severus, I did go out of my way to decorate the hall this year, do you think you could look up from your plate and enjoy it?" His eyes twinkled as he admired the enchanted silk ribbons and the charmed Cornish pixies that held them up, floating in midair.

"Headmaster, you must have realized by now that your feeble attempts at engaging in worthless conversation are going to continue to be useless." Snape jerked his head back to his black coffee, taking a gulp.

"Ah, back into the school spirit, I see… Excited about the new thirty seven first-years, Severus?"

"Thrilled," he sneered, "Pity they'll be scrubbing cauldrons by supper tomorrow night."

"I hear you'll have your work cut out for you this year with the sevenths as well-"

Snape's temples twitched and he cocked his head painfully to the side, wincing as his hot drink scorched his throat. His eyes narrowed and widened quickly. "If you are suggesting the almighty golden trio that have been an everlasting pain in my arse, then please refrain old man, for fear of loss of the food I've just eaten." He took another gulp of his coffee.

Dumbledore laughed, then placed his fork on the table and removed several lemon drops from the inside pocket of his robe. "They have come a long way Severus… they have grown very much. Something tells me they may not cause as much trouble as they have in years past." He smiled as his eyes became radiant in the light.

The Potions Master raised an eyebrow. "You've been drinking too much pumpkin juice."

"Perhaps." The old wizard chuckled.

Snape looked out across the hall. He noted how each head pointing his direction flinched away at his gaze. He raised an eyebrow.

Someone was laughing noisily. He knew that laugh. It belonged to the unbearable Weasley boy. He was obnoxiously cackling with a mouth full of tapioca, causing Longbottom and Thomas to sputter their tea. If Albus wanted him to give them the benefit of the doubt with maturity, the headmaster might be in need of a head examination. And there was Potter, engaged in conspicuous conversation with Finnigan and Finch-Fletchy, who had joined the table, no doubt about Quidditch, about crazy flying snitches, broom-flying pretty boy prance pants, and how he was planning to become even more arrogant than wizardly possible. Like father, like son. Like always.

And Granger, happily talking to the youngest Weasley, twirling her fork in the strawberry topping of the cheesecake on her plate, smiling a little…

Dumbledore cleared the desserts from the tables with a clap of his hands.

"Attention students. As you know, the Forbidden forest is off limits, as well as the third floor corridor without express permission from our groundskeeper and Care of Magical Creatures professor." Hagrid had a nutty grin plastered to his face, the Potions Master noted. And he furthered his sneer. As if three-headed dogs weren't enough, Albus the soft heart let the huge hairy infant keep the bloody thing.

"I am pleased to announce that both Head Girl and Head Boy are from the Gryffindor house this year, congratulations to Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom…" That one had taken a number on Snape when announced in the staff room in early July. Apparently the Headmaster expected him to believe that Neville's courage and protection during the past two years had proved above sufficient. And although Severus could not argue, Albus had made it very clear that it was not skills in Potions that decided Head Boy and Girl. 'It's something called kindness Severus,' he had said. The old fool.

"…And last but not least I have a little surprise for you all. As you can see, I have gone out of my way to extravagantly decorate the Hall this year. While thoroughly enjoying myself, I have come up with a wonderful idea for a ball. A Halloween ball!"

Cheers and murmurs erupted all around.

"All students attending must be fifth-year and above. Lower houses will have parties in their common rooms. ALL staff must attend," he was sending a very particular glare in Snape's direction. "And all attendees must be in full costume… prizes will be awarded." The hall broke into applause, heavily from the older students.

Snape inwardly groaned. He had a headache that rivaled those he endured during the Triwizard Tournament. He felt as old as Dumbledore, and needed his bed more than anything else at the moment. Setting his coffee cup aside, and reaching to refill his glass of brandy, he began thinking of schemes to get out of Albus' awful plans for Halloween, one of his favorite nights of the year. However, after a shower of confetti erupted from Albus' wand and left him, as well as the rest of the staff table, purple and glittery, he threw all his cares out the window and took a long swig from the bottle.


	3. Gore Party

As soon as the feast was over and the students left for bed, another had begun. Three hundred witches and wizards all over Europe donned their cloaks and clutched the burning skulls on their forearms. Severus had barely been able to brush off the confetti before he was summoned. He could only imagine what was in store for tonight and briefly wondered if he would ever be free of the savage crimes. The meetings seemed even more frequent these past few months. Snape would return to Hogwarts, drunk and battered, and retreat to his rooms to wash the blood off his hands. He'd watch the red run down the porcelain, unable to think of anything but death, his own quite attractive in those moments.

His Death Eater robes were dramatic against the milky stones of the medieval gate. The white carnival mask was almost theatrical through the screen of his stringy black hair. The full moon lit the pathway to the East entrance, and the ballroom was already crowded with a congregation of identical masked-murderers, drinking and trying new hexes. Another villainous masquerade awaited Severus Snape.

"Well, it certainly brings new meaning to the whole… black and white and red all over jest…" Lucius Malfoy smiled drunkenly and leaned towards McNair, his greasy-faced pig of a companion.

The black and white checkerboard floor of the Malfoy ballroom was splattered with red. All in all, the surroundings of the place were nauseatingly obscene.

This was fuel for mirth among the death-eating crowd.

A metallic scent was fresh against the Dark Lord's nostrils. Malfoy's ballroom had accommodated the festivities wonderfully.

Lucius was annoyingly drunk. His silver hair clung to his face and he slurred every other word. He made a great fool, lying haphazardly in his chair, red-faced and reckless.

Severus was silent. Alcohol did nothing for him but rouse sorrow. And so he was a brooding drunk. His eyes glazed obsidian behind his bloody mask. The ballroom chandeliers blurred until they swayed. His mind traveled involuntarily through the evening's events, events that would surely transfer to the pensieve later in the night. But, for now, he would not forget.

What had transpired was rotten. The Dark Lord wished to expose the black nothing that lurked within each of his miserable servants. They were demons consumed by darkness and these gore parties only served to prove this. The fouler the celebrations became, the more pleased Voldemort was. And Severus was dangerously close to believing he was the same. No matter if he was of the light. Where was this so-called light? His soul, it seemed, had forever been a void plagued by slaughter and rape.

Through his teary vision, the haunting melody of his ballad was buzzing in his head. For a moment he was back at Hogwarts, in front of the parlor grand, running his palms along the keys. The clock on the mantle was ticking unchanged, and the overwhelming emotions were flooded against the instrument, the chords created in an instant, erasing the pain for a time.

He splayed his fingers on the cocktail bar, inconspicuously thrumming invisible notes as if a keyboard emerged from the wood. He imagined he was playing. He imagined to keep his sanity…

The Dark Lord had moved to sit and drink at the bar. Most of the festivities were dying down, and Severus noticed the two youngest followers mingling about the crowd. The first, Draco, the arrogant son of a bitch who was his favored Slytherin. The second, a girl from Durmstrang he hadn't seen in years, and he knew she had returned for the war. He was pondering how tragic it was that children accepted the mark, when a grey hand lifted his tumbler, filling it with fresh liquor.

"My lord," Severus acknowledged, shifting in his seat to abolish his reverie. He removed his mask to reveal his dizzy face. His expression was definitely drunk

"Severus, are you enjoying yourself?" Voldemort smiled, and Snape could swear a chill had taken over. The evil man plucked at his robe, removing something from his shoulder and distracting him. A shred of purple glitter that he clutched between his bony fingers reflected in the light of the chandelier.

"Party at Hogwarts?" His cold whisper was amused. Severus sighed.

"The Headmaster's a queer lunatic. He might actually be good for something if he spent less time adorning the halls of the school and inhaling lemon sweets."

The dark man laughed. "Still the same, old Dumbledore, still the same."

"Indeed." Snape took a swig of the brandy, clattering the tumbler on the bar top.

"It seems Malfoy's elves have quite a mess to clean up haven't they?" Voldemort cocked his head towards the sticky pool of gore, carelessly smiling as if it was the pile of purple confetti that had been cleared from the floor of the Great Hall.

"Mhm," Severus mumbled.

The dark man moved closer to the professor. His eyes narrowed. "Down to business Severus. How long until the elixir is ready?"

"M-my lord." Snape finished his glass and straightened in his chair as much as possible. Inebriated as he was, his words made sense.

"My lord, the potion should be ready by spring. It must be stabilized, and I have yet to discover what ingredients will give it the desired effect."

"Almighty power and endless strength." The Dark Lord spoke the words with hunger. A gruesome glint in his eye showed his desire. Severus didn't like it a bit and his head throbbed in pain.

"Yes my lord… All of that."

"Excellent."


	4. Oil and Canvas

Hermione dramatically dropped her jaw as she surveyed her new quarters. The room before her was fit for royalty and she could barely take it all in. Golden fabric draped from the ceiling richly pooled around the headboard of an enormous four-poster. It traveled the length of the canopy and flowed down the sides into swirled patterned curtains rimmed with black bouillon. The bedspread, a deep crimson, was of fine silk and bore the embroidered Gryffindor crest in coppery threads. It was draped over a thick down comforter and saffron Egyptian cotton sheets. The walls were a striking black and bordered with a gold design that matched the bed-curtains. At least seven dozen enchanted candles floated along the walls, elegantly illuminating the expanse of the space.

The carpet, buttery-soft scarlet, was wall-to-wall and a Persian rug of various golds lay at the foot of the bed. A large redwood vanity dominated the wall that lead to the bathroom. It was inlayed with ebony and the large mirror appeared to be gold-leafed. Two bookshelves ran from floor to ceiling on either side of the desk, and the couch before the roaring fireplace was red chenille. A huge bay window occupied the wall opposite the bed and overlooked the antique rose garden and patio beyond the French doors to the side of the Great Hall. The plush window seat was inviting against the starry sky beyond the panes.

Hermione realized she was lucky to reside in such an unvisited wing of the castle. West Tower was the third tallest tower in Hogwarts. Her extensive research for Professor Binns' class had taught her that.

She briefly wondered if her separation from the rest of the Houses and her professors would put her in any danger. Professor Lupin had the closest quarters that she knew of and he was all the way at the end of the corridor three floors below. Neville was all the way downstairs outside of the Great Hall, past the Defense classroom. It was all the better, she figured, to have Head Girl and Boy separate in case of emergency. It was, however, very difficult to feel unsafe in these beautiful surroundings.

The bathroom door creaked open to reveal a stunning, if not strange, mirrored space. The room was octagonal, four panels of enchanted window and four of mirror, giving the illusion of an absence of walls and only sky. An impressive round pool equipped with many different taps filled almost all of the marble floor space. A door concealed by mirror lead to the sink and toilet.

The beauty of the room was very unique—artistic and exactly Hermione's style. She fell in love with the atmosphere in a matter of seconds. In fact, though she was exhausted from the train, it inspired her to unpack her belongings and set out to make her new place home.

Tweeky the house-elf had left her two trunks by the window. She unpacked her school robes and clothes and hung them in the closet. She put her schoolbooks in the empty middle shelf of the bookcase. She set her few Muggle cosmetic products on the redwood vanity. She extinguished half of the floating candles.

Moving towards the window, Hermione was anxious to open her second trunk. The contents of it were, after all, the secrets she kept hidden from the world—what she really had been up to every time she excused herself and slinked off to the "library"…

Mr. Granger had always explained to his daughter that art had no place in the mind of a scholar. Eager to please, Hermione set aside her talents in music and visual art to concentrate on her academics. When she discovered her magical abilities, her artistic talent took the back burner, and it wasn't until her fifth year that she really came into her own.

Hermione by day was the bushy-haired know-it-all with the brains that could defeat the Dark Lord. Hermione by night was the mysterious beauty, composing and painting. In her dorms that she had shared with Parvati and Lavender, hiding her supplies had been difficult. But now she had this room to herself—a place to call her own.

Now her easel could sit by the bay window and her canvas could lie wherever she pleased. Her oil paints could join the toothpaste on her dresser and her music composition notebooks could sit on the nightstand. She could be free to be who she truly was, the scholarly artist. The logical painter, musician… hell, Hermione was a goddess. And she was ready to show this to the world. Finally.


	5. Sogno del Lupino

Opium.

A pungent haze filled the domed chamber. Sticky. Hot.

Black soiled robes lay in a heap on the white marble floor. A bloody mask was discarded on the top of the pile. The opium clouds dominated most of the room and made it difficult to see details.

Severus settled himself into the hot pool at the center of the floor. His arms were caked with blood, and the water line lapped against his chest, turning maroon blotches into violent red swirls on the surface.

He was still drunk, and high from the opium. A black cigarette was threaded through the fingers of his right hand, and as he took a puff, a whirl of smoke lifted into the fog, smelling of cloves and incense. His eyes were vacant as he gazed out into the night. The misty panes of the window were his only source of entertainment—that, and his memories of the revel. The clock on his mantle echoed the chime of four in the morning from the parlor. The fire in the hearth was dying down.

The click of his bathroom door could be heard. The draft from the bedroom and the squeak of hinges invaded his space. He was too far gone to care.

Unshed tears glistened in his eyes, and the sweat that had yet to be cleansed from his upper body tingled and itched under dried dirt and blood. Heels clapped quietly on the floor.

"Remus." He spoke the name as if to nothing. Rolling his head back against his shoulders, he sunk farther into the water, letting out a hiss at the contact between the wet heat and his skin.

"Severus," Lupin whispered. The opium was rapidly affecting his mind. And Remus was getting high as well. He inhaled slowly. "How did you know it was me?"

"T—the only one who knows the password to my rooms." His words were hushed and slurred. "What do you want?"

The ounce of reason left in Lupin's head allowed him to lift his wand. The window blasted open, and the hallucinogenic clouds wafted away. Severus involuntarily shivered at the contact, taking another long drag from the clove cigarette in his hand.

Lupin walked around to the window and sat on the ledge, looking down at Severus with calculating eyes. He hated what he saw.

Yes, it was true that the man before him had caused him pain in his childhood. Yes, it was true that he hated Severus then. Their years as students at Hogwarts had composed tensions between them that would leave lasting marks. But that did not change the fact that Severus had turned away from Lucius and Voldemort long ago. Severus had returned to the light and given himself entirely to the war. He had eagerly brewed potion after potion to save Remus' poor battered soul—to release him from the beast within. He didn't have to. Lupin turned his head to look beyond the window.

He couldn't bear to see a man so broken. Severus deserved to live after all these years. But what he saw was only surviving. Lying there, limply in the water, bloody and cold. His eyes clearly dilated, even though they were as black as the night. His Dark Mark, violent and bruised, indelible and mocking his existence.

Weakly, Severus shifted to a sitting position; taking a last puff from his cigarette, he crushed it against the marble edge of the bath. His eyes were empty. He tried in vain to lift an eyebrow, his signature motion, yet it only came across as injured.

"Well?… What the fuck do you want, Lupin?" His voice was hoarse, strained. "I didn't ask you to come and mock me in such a s...state." His voice faltered and he brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"I was coming to thank you, Severus. But now, after seeing you like this, I want to help you." Lupin looked again to the man in the bath.

"Whatever the hell for?" Severus spoke into his wrist as he continued to massage his forehead.

"Because, this isn't healthy. All of these violent revels and constant work, it's… it's too much for you." Lupin stood and walked to the supply closet to the right of the toilet. Removing a vial of Sober-up Potion, he carried the bottle toward the bath again, uncorking it for him.

Severus glared at it with distaste, but, knowing that he was defeated, gulped down the contents of the vial. As his head cleared he spoke. "You have no idea, Lupin, no fucking idea!" He threw the bottle against the wall, shattering it to pieces.

Lupin was unaffected by the outburst. Calmly, he stooped by the edge of the pool and removed a cigarette from the box. Lifting it to his mouth, it automatically lit. He took a long drag. "You always did have good taste in cigarettes."

When the darker man did not answer him, Lupin looked down to find Severus' head in his arms—his black hair hiding his pale hands. Just before Lupin began to speak again, Severus mumbled softly. "I'd beg you to kill me if it wasn't for the Order."

"No." He chuckled. "No, you wouldn't. You would have already done it yourself by now." Lupin moved again to sit by the window, taking another long drag from the cigarette.

He sighed. "That's what worries me the most. It's really time you lived your life, Severus… We'll win this war someday. Then what will you do?"

Snape lifted his head to glare at Remus again. "Then… I'll die, Remus. I'll die. If I'm not dead already by that time."

"And how exactly will you die?" Lupin narrowed his eyes challenging him. "You'll be a hero."

Snape snorted. "Oh I can picture it. Let me see… I'll bet I'll have my picture taken too, front page of the _Daily Prophet_, right next to Potter—"

"Harry would be glad to share the spotlight for once and you know it. It was apparent he wasn't his father the middle of his fifth year. Back when we lost Sirius. Sirius, remember him? If you were half the man he was you'd give Harry a break for once. "

"Go to hell."

"Not that easy, I'm afraid." Lupin tossed the butt of his smoke out the open window. The draft reminded him again of Severus' state. "Really Severus, opium?"

"It was my father's."

"Who is now dead."

"Exactly. Nothing gets by you," he sneered.

"Not when I'm forced to watch an old schoolmate destroy himself." Lupin smoothed the corner of his mustache.

"Oh please, Remus, quit the pity party," he scoffed. "You don't care."

"I do."

"It's the opium."

"It's not, Severus." He allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. "Don't you even realize why I came here in the first place?"

"To make my life even more of a living hell apparently." He then immersed his entire body into the water, the clear herby scent of the liquid rising with the steam, cleansing him of the remains of death that clung to his form. When he reached the surface and pushed the hair out of his face, Remus was laughing.

"What the bloody fuck is funny about any of this?"

"Haven't you realized?"

"No…" Severus processed the events of the evening, the welcome feast, and the full moon. "Wait… Oh my… gods!" It was so out of character for him, but Severus possessed, at that moment, what could easily be called a grin.

"It worked." Remus was beaming.

"So it did." He paused. "Congratulations, Lupin. Never again will you howl at the moon."

Remus moved to sit on the chaise a few feet away from the edge of the pool and Severus. He took a moment to formulate the words through his apparent glee. "You do realize that you've cured lycanthropy."

"Of course I do!" Snape's head jerked towards Lupin, water droplets splashing from his wet tendrils of hair. "But I also realize that it won't matter, for anyone other than you anyway… because of the war."

"Yes, Severus. But when we win—"

"If we win." The darker wizard turned his face towards the surface of the water again.

"When we win, Severus. Then you will go down in history."

"I'll be dead, remember?" He cocked his head and smiled in what Lupin believed to be obnoxious satisfaction.

"Well there, Severus. There… There's your reason." Remus's face came closer to the other man.

"It's not enough… not after all that I've done." Severus' eyes were fire. He gave a glare that would have even the strongest Gryffindors running.

Something in the mind of Remus Lupin accepted the challenge in Severus' eyes. What he wouldn't do to save the soul of this complicated ex-Death Eater. Why the happiness of Snape meant so much to him, he didn't know.  
"It's over, Severus. And it's about time you left this whole miserable act behind you!"

That was it. Something inside the dark man's head snapped and he flung his hand across Remus' face, the sharp slapping sound of his wet hand echoing throughout the chamber. "There is no act!" Immediately Severus recoiled and touched his hand as if it were involuntary.

"You see? It's not over. It's never over! I'm a violent man, Remus, and I will always be. Nothing inside me is good. Nothing can be saved. I'm evil, heartless, and as cold as the night I was born. You'd be better off plotting my death with the rest of them."

Remus had clutched his face where it stung. The sight of Severus in violent rage was terrifying, even for him. He rose and moved towards the door. "You are not evil, Severus." He lifted the latch and pushed open the creaky door. "You're lonely."

Slam! The door shut.

Few minutes passed. The mantle clock could be heard. Five chimes. The last few candles in the dark room played against the Potions Master's body. The deep peach and rosy cuts of his skin, and the glistening of the water's surface the only visible details in the dark room. The body raised an arm… cigarette to lips. Another day began. 


	6. Yeva Parajanov

The corridor was filled with chattering students. The morning sunlight poured through the gothic windows and the scent of parchment and new quills was spreading through the hallways. Several third-year Hufflepuffs groaned as Professor McGonagall deducted house points.

"Gods, Hermione, you'd think they promoted me to Headmaster with those rooms!" Neville Longbottom trotted alongside Hermione Granger as they exited the Charms classroom, on their way to the dungeons.

"I know, Nev. I've never seen anything so…" She looked at him, her chestnut eyes flashing. "There are simply no words to describe it."

Neville pulled a packet of Jelly Slugs from the inner pocket of his robe. They appeared to have melted in the heat of his pouch. Gooey as the wrapper was, he tried in vain to peel the plastic from the mess. "Slug?" He pushed the ooze towards her.

"No, Neville! Thanks." She forced a smile as her nose wrinkled involuntarily.

"Hey, they're still good. I even like 'em better when they're like this." He separated a slimy bit from the glop. Placing it in his mouth he added, "But hey, tell me what's different." He looked curious.

"Sorry?" Hermione was puzzled. "About the slugs?"

"No." He was amused.

"Then I don't know what you mean."

"There's something different about you today." Neville studied her intently from head to toe. "I don't know what it is…" Their pace had slowed considerably.

"Neville don't be silly. If we don't hurry we'll be late for Snape."

"Shit."

Once they had sprinted down the stairs, passed the gargoyles, and collapsed against the Potions classroom door to catch their breath, they realized they had a minute to spare.

"I was being serious, Hermione," Neville whispered as they took their seats, second row to the front.

Snape had yet to arrive.

"Nothing's different, really, Neville." Hermione pushed the hair back on her forehead with an open palm. Ringlets cascaded onto her shoulders. "I wore my hair down today."

"It looks nice." He smiled. "But, no… there's still something more."

Neville's examination of Hermione was cut short as the classroom door blasted open. Hinges creaking, the steel knob whammed against the wall with a boom.

A swirl of black robes and the stomp of leather boots against the cold stone, made the seventh-years aware that their professor had indeed returned, snarky as ever.

In a violent sweep, the Potions Master strode to his desk. Students froze as they felt the breeze his cape left in its wake. Harry and Ron exchanged unhappy looks. Hermione noted that Neville's knuckles had turned white from clutching the beaten wood of the worktable. Even Draco and Pansy had stilled at his entrance.

Abruptly, Snape jerked his face toward the class, obsidian eyes alight from the flame beneath the cauldron at his feet. His lips twitched, and all eyes surveyed him without choice, wondering what they would endure for the next hour.

"Have you twits enjoyed your holiday?" His tone was sincere, but the malicious glint in his eye made Hermione's stomach turn. She noted how he savored the word "twits" as his face contorted with venom.

"I hope you have." Sarcasm dripped from every word. "Because your foolish merriment ends here… children." His eyes met those of Harry Potter and narrowed visibly. "Open your textbooks to page twelve and begin copying the properties of Fluxweed. When you're finished, I want a foot of parchment discussing the effects Fluxweed harbors within the Polyjuice potion."

Hermione, startled, turned her face towards the tabletop to keep from becoming conspicuous. She was blushing profusely. Of course, she knew the day would come that they would learn about the Polyjuice potion in school, but she had not been prepared for it to happen on the first day of classes. She had to keep her cool. After all, she would have no excuse for this strange reaction for anyone aside from Harry and Ron.

"Well, what are you dunderheads waiting for?… Get to work!" Snape then took a seat behind his desk.

For the first five minutes of silence, Hermione concentrated on breathing. Her mind kept jolting back to the memory of when she was twelve, stealing from Snape's stores, and the horror of growing whiskers and a tail. Her hands shook a little as she removed a roll parchment from her messenger bag.

"Psst… 'Mione, you alright?" Ron had leaned over the gap between the tables and placed a hand on hers.

She shook her head. "Fine," she answered. What was wrong with her? It couldn't simply be the memory of the potion incident. True, Bulstrode's cat had scarred her, but it was unnatural for her to feel so uneasy. She chanced a look at Professor Snape and wished she hadn't.

His cold aura made her realize what was actually bothering her... The fact that he knew about it. He had to know after four and a half years. And she could guarantee that before their chapter exam, he would find the perfect time to humiliate her with it.

One of her ringlets had stuck to her vanilla lip balm. She tucked it behind her ear.

Snape shifted in his chair and dipped his quill in a pot of red ink.

Hermione didn't know it, but her moodiness was far more than hormones and fear of her hated professor. An inner struggle had begun. The new Hermione Granger, the real one, was stepping into a new light. What she recognized as fear was actually confidence. Her originality was becoming known, right there in the Potions classroom. Of course she was uneasy, overwhelmed even. A kaleidoscope of ideas and design were at last discovering a place in her inner thoughts. What Neville had noticed was the spark in her eyes; the spark of artistic sophistication that her face could no longer obscure.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Neville pushed some of the hair behind his friend's neck. "You look a bit flushed."

"I…I think so. Yes." She finally snapped out of the myriad of color that was swimming in her brain.

Mmmm. That was better. Everything was paint-able again, like it used to be. Gods this was wonderful for her. Nothing at all lacked the depth that she was so used to once. Why had she denied herself for so long? She had completely forgotten who she _was_. A dramatic, artistic being, full of color and fire…

All of this was tragically cut short. Neville accidentally tipped his inkpot and both he and Hermione's surprised intakes of breath had been enough to attract attention.

"Disturbing the class so soon?" the deep voice resonated. "Clumsy as ever I see, Longbottom." Snape had descended upon them, his pale hands crossed against his chest.

Neville visibly paled. His hands shook, and his breathing quickened as the Slytherins nearby giggled quietly.

"_Evanesco_." Snape's voice was soft as he cleared the ink from their workspace, revealing a blank roll of parchment paper. Soft, for him, meant dangerous.

"Why, Miss Granger, you have nothing on your parchment." His black eyes glinted darkly, and a smirk was evident.

Hermione knew it was coming. All eyes were upon her. That, itself, did not bother her. In fact, she rather liked it. It was more the fact that she was about to be made a fool.

If only she could turn the game around.

Snape leaned against the table, cocking his head as he regarded her. He glared. "While I do know, Miss Granger, that you possess a great deal of knowledge regarding the Polyjuice potion and the _ingredients_ within…" He trailed off, savoring the uneasy look on her face. "I suggest that you refrain from slacking off."

Harry and Ron had caught the meaning in his words and they shot daggers at him, though they were too smart to say anything. Hermione concentrated on keeping a level head. The "slacking off" comment had made her very angry, though, she knew what she was going to do.

"After all, lack of caution with such dangerous substances could lead to very _unwanted_ results." He was downright taunting her. She didn't understand it. How could he be that cruel?

"Isn't that right, Miss Granger?"

She wanted to insult him. Her face was red and her hair had fallen around her eyes. She wouldn't, though. She wouldn't, because he wanted it. He wanted to see her fail so he could deduct points and humiliate her further. For once, she would not give into that. She would surprise them all… friends, enemies, and the asshole before her.

Clearing her throat calmly, she looked at Snape as though he had wished her a good morning. "Yes, Sir, that's right."

He raised an eyebrow. Ron looked at her as though she had lost her mind. Perhaps she had, in a way.

"And isn't it correct, _Miss Granger_…" He just wouldn't quit. "That Boomslang skin is a necessary ingredient in brewing this potion?"

"That's correct, Professor." Her voice never faltered, never raised. She knew what he was getting at. He was livid. And she was enjoying it.

"And _where_, might I ask, would one find such a rare ingredient, Miss Granger?" He had lowered himself so his face was level with hers. She could feel his breath against her cheeks as he exhaled in anger.

She took her time in calculating what exactly to say. She studied his face, his bulging black eyes and wild hair that clung to his sticky pale skin. The dark of the room made him look mysterious and bold. If she could paint him like that she would need a new tube of black oil paint.

_Extra oil_, she thought.

That image brought a smile to her face.

The class looked at her as though she'd sprouted another head. She had definitely gone crazy, grinning like that. In her position, few people would have the ability to hold back tears. She was practically laughing.

Snape's eyebrows had shot up and he was looking at her with disbelief. He spoke again in low tones, through gritted teeth, "Well, Miss Granger?"

Her answer was light. She sounded like she was talking to Ginny while window-shopping in Hogsmeade. So out of character was she, that the words took a few moments for the Potions Master to register…

"Well, I suppose one could find Boomslang skin in any number of specialty shops, though it is not cheap…" She smiled. "You, Sir, in fact, used to own a jar of it in your stores. But, I don't think you do anymore." She paused innocently. "Is that why you're asking?"

Professor Snape couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stood again and took a step back, only to come crashing down on her again, hands on either side of the table.

"Impudent girl!" he barked.

She gazed up at him, her face never showing any emotion rather than virtuous indifference. He couldn't hurt her, so she could keep up her act with ease.

"One hundred points from Gryffindor, for stealing from a Professor's stores!" He towered over her.

"Okay," she said calmly.

"Another fifty for your insolence, Miss Granger!"

She really should have stopped. But the kindness in her voice, setting him off like that, was compelling to say the least.

"Professor, we have no points to begin with." She was beaming. "You know me well enough to know that I've read many books in the library, one of my favorites being Hogwarts a History."

"Miss Granger…" His voice was low and grinding through his crooked teeth. He was quite a sight.

"Professor, please, let me finish. You hate it when I interrupt." Nonchalantly she looked around her, coming back to face him. "There is no such thing as negative house points." She shrugged. "So I'm not jeopardizing my fellow classmates by talking to you."

"No, Miss Granger, you're on my last nerve… And I'd quit the nonsense now before I lose my temper and you find yourself in detention for the rest of the year!" His voice had lowered still and Hermione realized how terrifying he must have been as a Death Eater.

_Wait, he still is a Death Eater, turned spy._

"Sir!" She hadn't planned for it to go quite that far.

"Detention, girl! Tomorrow night, eight o'clock!"

"Alright." She accepted defeat. "With Mr. Filch, Sir?"

"No, Miss Granger, with me."

* * *

Dumbledore clapped his hands and plates of shepherd's pie, mashed potatoes, and stewed carrots appeared on the tables. Pitchers of pumpkin juice were passed from student to student and the clang of silverware filled the Great Hall. 

The Gryffindor table couldn't seem to quit chattering about Hermione's display that afternoon in Potions class. News had traveled fast, of course, and Hermione was sure the other houses had word as well. The Slytherins were probably having a bash.

"You know, I don't think it can be so bad," Hermione said suddenly, thinking out loud to herself. "Detention with the bat. Piece of cake. I mean he's so overdramatic. How juvenile can you get? Bringing up silly things I did when I was twelve... I wish everyone would realize that it was he who made the scene... I just agreed with him." Ron looked uneasy.

Ginny leaned in slightly, placing her fork in her dish. "Hermione, everyone knows that Snape's an arse." Her friends nodded. "I wasn't there, but Neville suggested… apparently… that you asked for it."

Hermione laughed loudly, causing a few heads to turn in her direction.

"That might be true," She scoffed. "But think about it. What did I do but treat the cruel bastard with kindness?" She trailed off, looking around the table. "If that's considered 'asking for it', then I don't know what to say." She forked a carrot into her mouth.

"Yeah, Hermione, but you're messing with Snape," Harry stated. He stared at her. "The way you handled him today was brilliant. But, I can't help but think you've gone a little mad."

"Harry—" Hermione started.

"Yeah, 'Mione, it's not like you. At all." Ron finally spoke, cutting her off. "I loved seeing the git so pissed. But, I have to agree with Harry. I think you're bloody stupid."

"Ronald, that's enough." Ginny had piped up again.

"No we're serious, Gin. It's not enough. I've been through hell and back and only once have I ever seen him so angry." Harry looked nervous.

Hermione seemed to be reflecting. He waited till she caught his gaze.

"Hermione, he's been angry enough to throw me to the ground… He's that angry again." He noticed she looked a little worried. "I reckon he's scheduled the detention for tomorrow, though, because he needs to cool down."

Hermione thought for a moment in silence. The weight of her friends' words registered when she noticed Professor Snape was not present at the High Table. It was very unlike him to miss dinner.

"I still don't care. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have done it in class. I'm not afraid of him anymore. He's pathetic." Hermione began to get upset. "I only tried something original for once! I tried being nice!"

"Snape doesn't know how to be nice!" Ron yelled.

"He doesn't even know how to wash his hair," Seamus added, who was listening to the conversation.

Many more students at the table had been listening to the conversation. It was difficult not to. They laughed at Seamus' comment.

"No. Bottom line, Hermione, he's not a nice man. It would have been different if he was," Harry went on, much quieter this time. "He's a very important asset to the war, yes. He works for the light, yes. He's a member of the Order, yes. And you have defended that of him."

Ron scoffed. Ginny nudged him. "Let Harry finish," she said.

"…But that will never change the fact that he'd love nothing more than to make us miserable, and humiliate us at every turn." He swirled the pumpkin juice in his glass.

"Why does he do that though?" Hermione asked this more to herself than anyone at the table.

"Because he's just that heartless I guess." Harry resumed eating his shepherd's pie. "All I can say is… Good luck tomorrow night."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. All eyes redirected to the High Table. The headmaster was now standing.

"Attention, students!" Dumbledore's merry voice caused silence in a matter of seconds. "I have an announcement." Curious expressions passed from student to student.

"I would like you all to welcome a new addition to our school."

Suddenly the door behind the High Table swung open to reveal a small girl with dark brown hair, followed by Professor Snape.

_So that's where the greasy bat was._

He threw his robes behind him and sneered toward the crowd of surprised students. The group of Gryffindors noticed the girl was already dressed in full Hogwarts uniform. Her skirt was a little long because of her deficient height. And she looked as though she was wearing a man's shirt, because her white sleeves fell slightly below her robe sleeves, which were already far too long. Her chest and facial features, however, blessed her with traits far from masculine. And they could not be hidden under the oversized clothing.

The first thing that Hermione noticed, though, was the unmistakable silver serpent that embellished her robes.

_So she's a Slytherin..._

Dumbledore continued with a smile. "Please give a warm welcome to Miss Yeva Parajanov, who will be joining Slytherin house for her sixth year at Hogwarts." A few staggered claps broke out from different corners of the hall.

Draco Malfoy leaned to a few of his friends and whispered, "That's her, mates. The one I was telling you about." Pansy and Millicent moved down a few seats to make room for their new housemate.

Snape nudged the girl forward to step beside Dumbledore. She looked very nervous and pushed the hair behind her ears. Her hair looked like it was thick as molasses, and while not conventionally beautiful, she wasn't unattractive.

Her wavy mass of hair fell to the middle of her back. Long and lean, her face held a soft quality. Her skin was a deep olive tone and her nose was a little large. But she had beautiful eyes.

From where Hermione was seated, she could tell that they were a deep blue, and they glittered in the half-light of the High Table. Her lashes were long and sweeping, also dark, they framed her irresistible eyes. She emanated mystery.

"Yeva has come to us from Durmstrang, and is very happy to join us." Dumbledore placed his hand on her shoulder. Yeva smiled brightly, revealing pearly white teeth and a set of deep dimples on her cheeks.

Ron leaned forward. "She looks so nice."

"I know," Ginny said.

"I wonder why she's gotta go with the Slytherins," Ron added.

"Oh, Ron, I'm sure she's been sorted." Hermione joined their quiet conversation.

"Maybe the Sorting Hat is getting a little old." Ron studied her.

Yeva was no more than four and a half feet tall, and with Snape and Dumbledore on either side, it made her look like a midget. Following the sharp directing finger of the Potions Master, she walked quietly to the end of the Slytherin table, taking a seat next to Millicent Bulstrode.

Though delayed, the entire hall broke into applause. It was heavy from the Slytherins.

Above them, Dumbledore took his seat and leaned to Remus Lupin.

Quietly he spoke. "Remus, have you informed them all of the Order meeting tonight?"

"Yes, of course, Albus." Remus glanced to Severus, who was studying the Parajanov girl with an unreadable expression.

"Thank you." Dumbledore snapped his fingers and his plate, as well as the rest of them, were cleared instantaneously. "Congratulations again, on your breakthrough. It must have been the best feeling in the world." On a whim as he snapped his fingers, Dumbledore replaced the filling supper with various bowls of brightly colored fruit sorbet.

"I can assure you, Headmaster, that it was." Remus smiled. "But, as you know, I couldn't have done anything without Severus."

Dumbledore frowned. "I trust that you told him so?"

"Yes." Lupin unexpectedly placed a finger on his cheek where he had been slapped the night before. He weighed his words. "He's depressed, Albus, I think. He didn't take it well." He looked at Dumbledore and then to the strawberry sorbet in front of him.

"Hmm… I daresay I feel the same." The twinkle had returned to his eye. "But I would not fret too much. I believe Severus will come around." Plopping a lemon-flavored scoop of sorbet on his plate and glancing at Severus, he continued. "Though I do hope, as much as I know you do, Remus, that it will be soon."


	7. After Hours

To describe Hogwarts at night, in the least words possible, one could easily settle on "eerie".

An hour and a half after curfew, the torches aligning the corridors were extinguished. Enchanted portraits had retired, and their snores could be heard faintly, echoing off the ancient stone. Shadows of the architecture stretched along the carpet, and tapestries were bathed in the moonlight from the windows, giving them a ghostly appearance.

Another light, one strong in comparison, came from the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office, and was splayed upon the wall adjacent. Sounds of a crowd could be heard from beyond the revolving doorway.

A nervous house-elf stood at the foot of the gargoyle, evidently waiting for guests. Clutched tightly in his gnarly hand was a scroll of names. The invitation list.

Albus Dumbledore rounded the dark corner beyond the window, at the end of the hall. Humming to himself, he carried in one arm, three bottles of wine, and in the other, a half-eaten chicken leg. It was apparent that he had made a stop in the kitchens before returning for the meeting. Drawing closer to the attentive house-elf, he paused in his slow stroll to venture a question.

"Blinky, I believe all of our guests have arrived?" He bent to look more closely at the tiny elf, chicken bone vanishing as he did.

"Yessus, Headmaster, Sir," the little elf replied. He was proudly displaying the names of the Order on the scroll clutched in his hand, and gave it to Dumbledore.

"Very good, you may return to your quarters now, Blinky."

"Blinky thanks you, Sir." The house-elf disappeared with a quick snap of his fingers.

Dumbledore gently muttered the pass-phrase and the gargoyle slid to reveal the winding staircase that lead to his office. The opening of the barrier had intensified the sounds coming from inside.

Lazily, jazz music was playing. People were drinking with no hurry. Someone was singing with a soft intensity.

As the tall, old wizard entered his sitting room, a giddy "hoorah!" burst collectively from the happy company. Nearly everybody turned to raise his or her glass to the headmaster.

"Welcome, friends." he grinned through his thick gray beard. Setting the Port on the hors d'oeuvres table, he winked at Charlie Weasley, who had quickly shifted toward the clinking noise of the bottles. Dumbledore then began moving through the mass of guests towards the door of his office.

Before entering, he turned, thoughtfully, and surveyed the party.

What he saw was the Order of the Phoenix. All of them joking and laughing, telling stories about what had gone on since they last met. Hagrid, Lupin, the Weasleys, Diggle, Moody, Tonks- they were all there. They were all enjoying themselves. They were, together, what he could easily call his closest friends. They were his trustworthy army that served him like a father.

To see them this happy was what kept him alive in his old age. And he couldn't help letting his heart swell with the memories the long-lived crowd brought to him.

Someone had opened the windows along the walls of the circular room. The cloudy sky yielded to a soft September breeze, and the scent of the newly bloomed moonflowers from the balcony wafted past the velvet curtains.

Hagrid had created various fondues in discarded cauldrons that had been sitting at the foot of the bookshelves, and added their steaming contents to the piles of hors d'oeuvres that covered the extended table.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had brought his saxophone, and was playing a crooning melody to the jazz beat of Bill Weasley's bongo drums.

The lovely Emmeline Vance, who stayed a little removed from the celebration was pouring champagne. Charlie seemed to be encouraging her to sit with him on one of the sofas near Hagrid, who was tipsily guffawing at Mad-Eye Moody. The wild-eyed wizard, who was laughing merrily, slapped his knee as his enlarged eyeball rolled towards the ceiling.

With a last purveyance of the festivities, Dumbledore smiled and then turned again to enter his office. He was surprised to discover Minerva in one of his red wing-backed armchairs, sipping tea.

The room was dark, with only the oil lamp at his desk dimly lit. Minerva sat, looking like she always did these past years, though her face was veiled in shadow. Tracks of tears were faintly shining in the dark.

"Minerva?" Dumbledore moved gently into his large office. He was immediately unsettled by her apparent sorrow.

She looked up from the steaming cup, raising her right hand to hide the evidence of her crying. But all for naught, she was sure that he had seen.

"Why are you not enjoying yourself, my dear?" He came to sit in the chair opposite her. A flick of his wand, and the fire danced with renewed life.

The flames flickered against the wallpaper and radiated to warm them both. It was a while until either of them said anything. Dumbledore was content to sit with her like this. He would have continued to comfort her all night if not for the matters needing to be discussed with the lively, if not rowdy crew beyond the door.

"Albus," she spoke quietly. Turning her face to him and smoothing the tears from her cheeks with the napkin on her saucer. She gave a feeble smile.

Wordless communication passed between them. The draft from the French doors of the upper level balcony confirmed his suspicions of the situation. Giving Minerva a questioning look, he leaned and gazed beyond the railing above their heads.

The small staircase yielded to a sliver of evening light. The familiar scent of moonflower was also present. His assumptions were explained.

"What did he say, Minerva?" he asked, turning back to her. His eyes shined in the firelight, and his expression remained concerned.

She was not surprised in the least at how quickly he had determined the cause of her distress. And so she tried her very best to explain.

"Only these… ideas he has expressed lately, Albus." Her voice quivered in an exasperated tone. Turning her face again to her hands, she sighed mournfully and continued. "He… has reminded me of the war."

Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I see," he said. His eyes never lost their concern.

"Albus, he's terrifying me." She set her tea on the coffee table and made an effort to hold as much of his attention as possible.

"All of this talk of death." She paused. "He doesn't even realize how much we need him here…"

Dumbledore nodded as she sighed again, craning her head to where he had looked before.

"I have always found him to be a friend." She smiled, speaking more to the hearth than him. "But he does not see me anymore… He doesn't seem to care to _live_ anymore."

At this, she fought the urge to weep again. Dumbledore took her hand in his. Looking into the fire, he formulated words that he knew would do her no good at the moment. In the meantime, he conjured his own cup of tea and the silence served to soothe her.

"Albus?" she asked quietly. A few crackles and pops from the fire disturbed the silence.

"Yes?" …A whisper, as if his throat had caught on a sigh.

"Do you remember that night, a few summers ago, when the three of us and Remus set up camp on the parapet?"

Slowly, the old wizard grinned. "Of course I do! I'm not old enough to forget such memorable things quite yet!" He laughed quietly. "Although now, I may be too old to sleep outside on a stone wall…" He gave her a goofy look. "I seem to remember how much we had to drink that night."

"We drank _through_ the night, as I recall… I think we even played charades!" She cackled.

Dumbledore joined her then in laughter and they sprawled along their individual seats, shaking uncontrollably, uncaring that at their age such behavior would be considered unseemly.

"What in Merlin's name has made the two of you so playful?" An amused Remus Lupin was standing shaded in the doorway between them and the sitting room.

Minerva was the first to relax and regain composure.

"We're simply making light of things," she said.

"Well, what was so funny?" the ex-werewolf inquired.

"That time you, Albus, Severus, and I camped out on the parapet with an array of spirits from the kitchen…"

His eyes were immediately filled with merriment. "Ha ha! Yes! And the interesting games that followed… I clearly remember Severus' impersonation of Hagrid was enough to cause near dangerous hysterics."

At the sudden thought of the simple joy they shared once, Albus' eyes became sad with the knowledge that those happier days seem to have slipped away from them.

The realization gave way to an awkward pause.

"Do you believe that we will ever see that Severus again?" Minerva ventured softly.

Her gaze traveled beyond the windowpane to the sky that faded into black. Her mind recounted the memories of better times. She continued...

"In years past, he was able to separate his classroom persona from that which he allowed us to see, but recently… he's taken himself somewhere dark… where I don't think we can ever find him again if we don't soon."

Unbeknownst to Minerva, the same thought lay close to everyone's hearts.

Remus replied slowly, "Sometimes, I wonder which Severus is real..." He paced a little. "And even then, I find the real Severus is locked inside the dark mantle he wears."

Kingsley's saxophone softly interrupted the quiescence.

"Perhaps not so much 'locked' as 'lost'," Albus mused as he watched the leaves of the forbidden forest sway in the breeze.

Remus glanced once to the French doors above them, then to the door of the party.

"Speaking of all things lost, Minerva, I was sent to seek you out by the party outside." In an attempt to lighten the mood, he smiled. "Rumors are swirling that you do an incredible rendition of 'Black Velvet', and Kingsley would be only too happy to oblige the accompaniment." Lupin innocently swayed forward and backward on his heels, dancing the challenge in front of Minerva. Truthfully, he was trying to leave Dumbledore to deal with Severus. He felt that Minerva understood. "Tonks has an electric guitar..."

Instantly, Minerva was on her feet. As she strode across the office, she placed her teacup gently on Dumbledore's desk with a lingering look. Without another word, Professors Lupin and McGonagall left the Headmaster to himself.

The door swinging shut and coming to rest in the frame blotted out the shadows of the lively party. Dumbledore spared his cool tea one last disparaging look, in the futile hope that it would somehow do the work that still lie in front of him this evening. When the tea didn't stir to his rescue, he pointed his wand at the china, and watched it float toward the table where Blinky would undoubtedly collect it.

Resolutely, he extinguished the hearth and collected some newly inked scrolls from the corner of his desk—the reason he had retreated to his office in the first place.

He found himself unconsciously walking towards the patio. It was time to take care of things.

Or, at the very least, try.

* * *

The Potions Master of Hogwarts had removed his frock coat and draped it against the stone railing, leaving him propped up on the granite outer wall in his shirtsleeves. He sat on the railing with his black leather boots pressed against the boxes that encased the silver flowers. 

His black hair fanned against the cool stone and his eyes were lost somewhere between the sway of the forbidden forest and the stardust caressing the fog of the night.

Dumbledore found him that way.

As though he had no company, the headmaster moved to stand at the railing. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his long celestial robe, he breathed the air and sighed.

"What now?" Severus' tone was harsh and cold as he fixed his eyes on the back of the old wizard.

He spoke softly. "Nothing, Severus. I was simply stepping out for a breath of fresh air… Checking up on the flowers…" He focused his suspicious gaze upon a petal close to his nose, and prepared for a response by admiring the magical flora.

"Oh please, Albus. Spare me." He snorted. "Was I too hard on the old woman?… Is that it?"

"Minerva is fine. In fact, I believe she is entertaining our party at the moment." He smirked. "I was, however, more concerned for you." Following the comment came an astute look above the brim of half-moon spectacles, and the downward nod of his bearded chin.

"As always." Snape pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his white linen shirt. He spoke with it between his lips. "I was hoping this was something important." He took a drag as it lit automatically. Smoke lifted into the night as he breathed. "I suppose it is highly unlikely that the activities inside have died down?… and that we can get to business?"

"Why, you're not interested in joining us?" The corners of the headmaster's mouth twitched. "I was hoping you could provide us some accompaniment… a little music background would be wonderful. Perhaps that beautiful sonata you've been work—"

"Not another word, old man!" Severus had abruptly leaned forward and wrapped his arm around his bent knee. Ashes crumbled from the cigarette in his fingertips, and his eyes blazed black with anger.

"Severus, you are an excellent pianist…" He trailed off and decided the direction things were going was not wise at the moment. "I hope you know that."

Severus landed loudly on his feet as he moved to stand. Taking a deep drag from his cigarette he threw what remained of it off the balcony, glanced over the edge to watch it fall, then jerked his head back to Dumbledore. Intense displeasure was glued to his face. But he did not speak.

"You are excellent at many things… Most importantly, keeping the lot of us safe from harm most of the time." Dumbledore met him eye to eye. He expected a reply.

"I have managed to survive. That's all that matters," he snapped.

"You have managed more than that, boy… You have managed to remain loyal to me." Stepping closer to the younger man, Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are like my son, Severus. And it pains me to see you this way."

For a moment, neither man moved. The only activity was the temporary flash of an emotion long forgotten in the coal depths of Snape's eyes. For a moment, even breathing was forgotten, and Dumbledore hoped that the words to come were not so much the truth as the loss.

"Spare your pain for a time when it is needed, Albus. It is wasted on me."

He pushed away from the headmaster and started towards the door again.

"Please, Severus." The pleading words of the old man allowed the younger to stop in his tracks, though he did not turn around. "_Anything_… to make you happy again."

Without turning, Severus replied to the dark room before him, the orange glow of the fireplace below, and the sliver of light that lead to the party.

If the headmaster assured himself that his hearing was not failing, he could have sworn he detected a slight crack in the bitter man's voice.

"Happiness, Albus… It's a gift." A pause. "A gift for those with good hearts, and thoughts free of evil. It is a gift reserved for those who deserve it." He turned his head then, slightly, so that his profile was visible. "I do not deserve it anymore."

And then, without another breath, he swept into the darkness, leaving Dumbledore alone again with his forgotten cloak.

* * *

It was one in the morning. Several candles still flickered in the seventh-year boys' dormitory. Packets of nearly empty Ice Mice and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans were scattered on the floor. 

Ron Weasley munched on a handful of Cheese Twisties, while lounging on his four poster, and flicking through a copy of _The Evening Prophet_.

"Hey, Harry, they've just come out with a new broom." Harry turned his head slightly to the right.

"Oh yeah?" he said. He was sprawled sideways on his back with his feet dangling over the side of his bed. He twirled a deactivated Snitch in his fingers with his hands outstretched above him.

"Oh yeah is right! Bloody twice as fast as the Firebolt." He sat up Indian style and replaced a Twistie that had fallen out of his mouth in excitement. "But they want a whopping 850 galleons for the thing… The Nimbus Flash 3000…"

"Bet ferret boy'll have one next week," Harry chuckled.

"Ah forget about it. Malfoy could have twenty of 'em and we'd still beat his slimy arse to bits first match."

"And we will."

"You know it."

Harry stood and walked to his trunk and retrieved his Transfiguration homework. Tossing the scroll on his bed, he lit a candle with his wand.

"I still haven't come up with an answer to number four." Puzzled, Harry stared at the blank space between his scribbled number three and number five.

"Can't help you there. I haven't even looked at it," Ron replied.

Harry sighed. Ron removed his nose from the paper and stared at him. "Why don't you just wait and ask Hermione."

"Cause that's what I always do, Ron," Harry said.

"Well it works, doesn't it? The girl's a walking encyclopedia." He resumed his reading. "What do you reckon has gotten into her anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"Awe come on, Harry, she's acting like she's lost her mind. I mean, I never thought of her doing something like she did yesterday."

"I've never seen her talk to anyone like that, let alone Snape." Harry cringed a little at the mention of the name.

"That greasy bat."

Harry sighed again. "I just hope he's not too hard on her."

"Are you kidding?"

"Shhhh!" A stirring from a nearby bed told them they had disturbed one of their roommates.

"Ron, it's nearly two. I'm going to bed."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Crookshanks was curled into a ball of fluff on the gold Persian rug at the foot of the Head Girl's bed. 

But the bed did not contain the Head Girl.

Clad in a severely short, blood-red satin nightgown, she meticulously selected a brush from her assortment. Humming to herself, she returned to the bay window area and the easel that contained her work.

The painting before her was nearly finished, and the sweat on her brow showed that she had been working for hours.

"Only the final touches now…" she said to no one.

She was quite a sight. Her hair, still a little slick from an earlier bath, was sticking to her neck and back. Her lips were rosy from chewing them as she worked.

Her skin, dewy from sweat, glistened in the dim light of the stubby candles and the hearth. The stringy lace straps of her nightgown had slipped below her shoulders and so, from a calculated angle, and the placement of the canvas, one could swear she was completely nude.

What she was painting seemed to give her great excitement. And she mumbled to herself every so often in amazement.

The tips of her fingers were spotted with paint and a bruised color was smudged on her collarbone, as if she had scratched her neck with a wet thumb.

Her breathing was deep and heavy and she even felt herself closing her eyes at times, while her hands still moved with the brushes.

So close she stood to her canvas, that an onlooker would not be able to understand how she achieved such perfect detail. Yet, it was as though she was making love to her creation.

"So erotic…" she whispered. "And all from memory…"

Selecting a long, thin brush, she smudged a bit of black paint on the tip. Crouching low, so that the gown she wore rose between her thighs and her bare legs touched the thick carpet, she moved to where she could reach the lower portions of the painting. In a loopy scrawl, near the bottom left hand corner, she signed two words.

_Hermione Granger_.


	8. Rose Number Four

Hermione spent most of the next day trying to keep her eyes open during classes. As mortified as she would be if she was found sleeping, her burning eyes and heavy lids finally got the best of her during dinner. After a little over an hour of sleep the previous evening, she desperately needed to find her bed.

She had just stepped out of the bath, pulled on her underwear, and slid under the duvet with a copy of _Hogwarts a History_, when…

"Oh my gods!" she shrieked.

Throwing aside the blankets and flinging the immense book too near a duly startled Crookshanks, she glanced a second time at the nightstand.

7:56. Four minutes.

"Snape is… I'm going to die!" She dramatically tossed one of the accent pillows across the room. Crookshanks hissed and darted under the bed.

"Holy shit! Crooks, I'm going to die in…" She glanced at the clock again, praying she had read it wrong. "Fuck, three minutes!"

Ripping open her closet door, she pulled on a pair of jeans she had worn three days before, an orange long-sleeved shirt, sneakers, and finally, her cloak.

Grabbing a hair-tie from the dresser, she burst out of her chambers and sprinted dangerously down three flights of stairs.

She cringed as she felt her arm travel through the icy presence of a ghost. The shivering effect was the blunder of the dear Sir Nicholas.

He turned abruptly at her intrusion. "My, Hermione, I've never seen anyone travel so fast in _that_ direction… especially at this time of night," He said, quite dumbfounded.

Without stopping her mad dash, she turned her head back and called, "I'm late for detention!"

He was far behind her, but she could still make out his distantly incredulous words. "Detention? You?" And then he passed through another wall.

"Unfortunately," she panted to the gargoyles that stood at the top of the stairs. The steps that most students referred to as "The Stairway to Hell".

She slowed to a walk.

Far off, she could hear the Hogwarts clock chiming eight. The sound made the adrenaline rush a little.

She sighed. "Might as well take my time now. I'm already late. No need to prompt an asthma attack just before I'm viciously murdered," she said again to the empty hall.

Three torches flickered in the dungeon lobby. They illuminated the corresponding three doors there. The nearest two were the storage closet and the Potions classroom. The farthest, an infamous tall ebony one, bearing a silver plaque that read "Professor Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin", as well as a silver medallion, depicting two intertwining snakes, below the nameplate.

Hermione knew the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room was around somewhere. After the Polyjuice escapade in second year, Harry had told her the entrance was very near the Potions classroom. Idly, she placed a bet on the bare fourth wall there.

But, she had no business betting tonight, her luck was running thin. By now, it had to be at least ten past. And she was positive she had royally pissed off Professor Snape. Even more than she had earlier, if it was possible.

Part of her wanted to turn around and leave--just tell him tomorrow that she was ill, but she knew that there was no sympathy when it came to him. And on that thought, she raised her fist, and firmly knocked three times.

Ten unbearable seconds passed. Then twenty. Surely she had knocked loud enough?

She raised her hand again. Another three knocks. Still, no answer.

Was he there?

He had to be there. She didn't almost stroke out running down to detention because he was known to be fashionably late.

"Professor Snape?" she called. A stirring could be heard. "Professor?"

The door burst open and Hermione flew backwards as it swung by, narrowly missing her, and slammed against the stone wall.

"You are late, Miss Granger!" His face was boiling with anger. His chin-length hair wild and sticking to his left cheek. "You are wasting my time!"

Hermione took a step forward.

"I'm very sorry, Professor," she said. "It won't happen again."

"You had better swear that it won't happen again!" He glared at her and tilted his head to shake the strands of his stringy hair behind his ears, lifting his hand to smooth what remained of it. His eyes picked up the blaze of the torch. "Show me some respect, girl!"

It was back, that terrifyingly-furious stare he had given her the previous day in Potions.

"Yes, Sir," she replied meekly.

"Follow me," he said then. And they passed beneath the doorframe and into the flickering light of the chamber.

Removing her cloak, she surveyed her surroundings while she nervously folded and re-folded the fabric.

Above the enormous mahogany desk was a circular enchanted window. And on either side of it were shelves containing the most spectacular assortment of items.

Hermione had never been in Snape's office before, and the array of ingredients she found to be amazing.

She couldn't help getting a bit giddy as her eyes traveled the length of the wall. Unicorn and Erumpent horns, a black shiny jar labeled "Devil's Snare", Ashwinder Skin, Jobberknoll feathers, and a tiny thin jar that emanated the most compelling crimson glow.

She settled her gaze upon it… wondering. They always say that curiosity killed the cat, and she had enough curiosity to use up all nine lives of a whole litter.

"Is that-" she started without thinking.

"Yes, Miss Granger, it is." He looked smug.

"How on earth did you get it?" Again her mouth ran.

Exasperated, he looked at the glowing jar, and then to her. "I have many more stunning things in my possession, Miss Granger. However, the reason you are here is not to admire my collection."

He sounded annoyed, yet she was surprised he had not been harsher in reply.

"I'm sorry, Sir." She looked down at the cloak in her hands. "It's just, well… Dragon's blood is so _rare_."

He opened his mouth again to speak but…

"Is there somewhere I can put my cloak?" she said before he could reply, as she knew the retort would not be at all friendly. With the wave of his hand, the material flew from her grasp and onto a nearby table. The color had also returned to his cheeks.

"Now sit!" he said savagely, pointing to the black leather wing-back across from the desk.

She moved to comply as his robes swirled, bat-like and expressive. In the moment he had his back turned, she found herself smiling.

All the drama really did suit him.

The corridor outside the foyer containing the Fat Lady's portrait was congested with students returning for recreational activities. A few pops and sparks confirmed a game of Exploding Snap and a roaring lion could be heard. Someone had enchanted the Gryffindor banner.

"Harry, do you think he's killed her yet?" Ron asked.

"I dunno." Harry walked a little further down the hall.

They had just left the Great Hall and were on their way back their dormitory, when Nearly-Headless Nick zoomed through the wall.

"Oh good, you two," he said hurriedly.

Ron smiled. "Evening, Sir Nicholas," he called. "You look like you're out of breath!"

"I'm always out of breath, Ron." He chuckled.

"Good one," Harry said.

Nick continued. "I was in a hurry though, boys… Trying desperately to catch Hermione." He looked around, slightly puzzled.

"She's in the dungeons," both replied in unison.

"I know," Sir Nicholas said. "She ran past a few minutes ago, said she was late."

Ron gave Harry his best "she's in for it" look.

"But she dropped that." He pointed to the floor near a suit of armor. "And, seeing as how I am a ghost, I could not bring it to her." He sighed sadly as Ron looked at the floor. "But now that you are here, I trust you can reunite her with it when she returns?"

Ron bent down and retrieved Hermione's stranded wand. He lifted it to show Harry, and Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Hermione, lose track of her wand? It was unheard of.

"We'll return it first thing, Sir Nicholas. Thanks," Harry said as he and Ron turned the corner to the main staircase.

Professor Snape leaned forward on his forearms. His brow was furrowed and his black eyes focused on Hermione.

He couldn't help being as confused as he was the day before, as she fixed him with that foreign look of hers. Scrutinizing and intrusive, it was a little unnerving. As if it didn't register to her that she was sitting across from the most feared professor in the school, the one who had humiliated and insulted her almost every day for the last six years.

And still she… just breathed. The artist's eye had been roused again. And the frame was in golden hues.

The flames of the wall sconces and the candelabras at either end of the mahogany desk lifted as she stared, meshing into an orange glowing mass, a rich aura around his figure. Her peripheral vision forced her to give all attention to his stunning outline.

And as the lines softened, black became flat silhouette, and the paleness of harsher features surfaced. Fingers and a face, cream colored, and complex enough for her to paint as doily lace. Not nearly as soft.

Those fingers seemed to unfurl like ferns. As elegant as though they'd dance if told, yet strong enough to crush stones between them, leaving minimal marks. Fingers that lead to palms, only partially visible beneath the sleeves of the infamous frock coat. Fingers that matched only a sour face in hue. Three splashes of non-color, the only dimension to a dark shadow. So far.

And still her eyes searched the scene. She needed his face, so rare, so close without a scowl. And he wasn't scowling. The lines were complying for once, giving her a kind of satisfaction in seeing a calm version of her subject.

_I wouldn't need those square-tipped brushes anymore, only soft, feathered contours... pastels..._

It felt exposed, raw, explicit. The thought of a few slow seconds when Professor Snape was candid. Not needing to look unpleasant. As if she was a fly on the wall. Observing him alone.

The fleeting thought brought a delicious tightening to the area above the fly of her jeans. But she brushed it off as quickly as it came, not wanting to recognize it just yet. Needing, instead, to rake her eyes over the contours of his face.

Lips, bowed and upturned at the corners, thin and slightly wet, they twitched ever so slightly as he breathed.

Nose, long and aquiline, large, but not too.

Eyes, pained, deep, obsidian. They hid nothing and everything at the same time. And at the moment they looked fragile. Like the glass of the Devil's Snare jar on the shelf, they reflected the shape of the flames.

She did admit to herself that they were different, in a way, from what she was used to seeing when their eyes had met before. Like they had some spark missing from them and conveyed a saddened, almost desperate look beyond the glimmer. Even rage could not contort them back to how she remembered them from years ago.

Something had definitely changed in him. But what…

"Miss Granger!" his voice bellowed so loudly it echoed off the back wall.

So startled was she, that her entire body flinched. And it took a few blinks to bring her back. She stared at him, shocked.

He did the same. "Miss Granger, are you under the influence of something?... Have you been drinking?" He was… confused. She supposed that was the way she would describe the expression on his face.

_Have I been drinking? What does he take me for?_

"Drinking, Professor?... Surely you don't believe that." He pinned her with a narrow look. "Do you think I'm _crazy!_" The color on his cheeks really gave him more dimension. She liked that color.

_That's Rose Number Four, that is. Some posh pricey paint if you ask me… but worth it_

"Judging by the way you've been acting, you might be. It is very out of character for you." He dragged his eyes along her and raised an eyebrow. "Twenty points from Gryffindor."

She felt anger rise again. Only one way to deal with that.

The new way.

"Then, Professor, I have a little question for you." She lifted an eyebrow in mock fashion. "I have clearly showed you how little I care about house points. What good will the deduction of them do in this situation?"

He opened his mouth to answer her. But he found the sarcasm to be lacking as he actually didn't have an answer. So he settled for bellowing, "Do not question me, Miss Granger. Do not question authority!"

"I only question what I do not understand, Sir." Her anger was showing a little. Perhaps she should have backed down.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger. That's nearly all your house has earned in the past two days." His eyes were piercing, yet still glassy, she noted.

What had possessed her? Intrigue maybe? She'd settle for simply seeing how far she could go. Or at least, to see how much it would take for the spark to be ignited behind his eyes. She admitted to herself that she missed it there.

_Crazy, Granger, you're going bloody crazy._

When had she begun to care about his eyes?

_Last night… Oh, last night._

She wrinkled her nose. And her chin raised a little like it always did when she was angry with Ron or Harry.

"Why don't you just bring us back to _zero_?" Her tone had lowered and was in the category of what she liked to call dangerous. Unpredictable.

"Twenty two more points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger." His reply was monotone, so it took a moment to register.

That was back to zero alright. He was satisfied, grinning like he did with the Dragon's blood. She didn't like it. Something in her expression must have showed him that he had gotten to her.

She glanced at the ceiling and smirked.

_I can be a bastardly-bitch-butt too Snape._

"Well, now what will you do? No more points to take away." She smiled.

_That'll teach him to call me a know-it-all._

For a moment, he looked as though he wouldn't do anything. But then he rose from his chair so violently, it toppled over and the shelves containing the rarities shook. And the stomp of his leather boots caused her seat to vibrate.

That rosy tone had filled the apples of his cheeks and the abrupt movement of his arms had caused those half-hidden palms to be completely exposed and those fern-like fingers to curl.

He was… he was going to strangle her! No…

He kicked the chair she occupied with such force, it slid four feet. And now it was impossible for her to hide her fear. It would be impossible for a dragon to hide its fear.

And he fell--no--swooped forward, catching himself on the arms of her chair. His face inches from hers. His breath, hot, and smelling of… what was that? Cigarettes.

Spicy and smoky, heady like cloves. And it wouldn't have mattered. It would have been another painting, another great scene, too bad he was going to kill her.

And then there was a knock on the door.

And Hermione let out a breath as he turned away, trying to decide if he did, indeed, hear the knock.

Lifting himself from the chair, he stalked towards the desk, turning back to fix Hermione with a look of narrowed eyes.

"I'm not through with you yet," he said through gritted teeth.

And the blood behind her ears chilled slightly.

It was an hour until curfew.

Harry and Ron had decided to retrace the path Hermione had taken to the dungeons.

"Harry, remind me why we're going to Hermione's rooms again?" Ron asked.

Harry was concentrating on the floor.

"Because, I want to make sure she didn't drop anything else, Ron. I still can't believe that she would lose her wand like that. It's usually attached like a third arm."

He continued studying the dark stone floor. He paused at an extremely intricate area rug and studied it in such a way that reminded Ron of second year with the spiders.

He silently prayed for no spiders.

"What if she dropped the Time Turner or something?" he asked Ron, who didn't seem to be paying attention.

"Forget that, Harry. She didn't even close her damned door."

And he was right. There, at the end of the hall, the thick wood of the door labeled "Head Girl" was pushed open so far that the edge of a four poster was visible.

"Oh hell, Harry, you don't think someone might have broken in do you?" He was truthfully just curious to have a look.

"Not really. I mean, I hope not." He peered around the open space as best he could to see inside. "Maybe we should check to make sure," Harry added. But Ron had already pushed the door completely open.

Once they were both in, Harry set Hermione's wand on her nightstand. Ron's eyes had bulged as he was slowly turning, taking in the surroundings.

"Bloody hell! These rooms look like something out of _Witch Weekly's Rich and Famous_!" Ron had skipped over to the bathroom and peered in, gasping at the size of the tub.

"You should see the size of this tub!"

Harry felt uneasy. "I don't know, Ron. I don't feel right invading her privacy like this."

"She left the door open!" A typical Ron reply.

"What's _that_?" Harry heard him say it, as he walked over to a tall bulky object covered with a sheet. Oh hell.

Harry was probably the only person in the whole of the Wizarding World that knew of Hermione's stunning artistic abilities.

"I dunno, Ron. It looks like a ladder." Harry's attempt at swaying Ron from it was no use.

"No it's not! It's a painting!" He squealed, running over to it with his arms outstretched. Luckily, Harry got there first.

"Ron!" he yelled. Snatching both of his best friend's hands away from the sheet, he looked him in the eye. The jade glimmer in his gaze was a little threatening. But he softened a little once he was reminded of how dense his friend could be.

"It might be something she doesn't want anybody to see," he said. "That's probably why there's a sheet over it." Harry's curiosity was piqued as well, but he valued Hermione too much to do go through her things without consent.

"Awe come on, Harry!" he whined.

"No, Ron! Can't you just respect her privacy!" Harry had resorted to whining himself. Ron had a thick head, that's for sure. But he wasn't about to let him invade Hermione's privacy without her permission.

Ron let his arms drop and forced himself to focus on the gold Persian rug and Crookshanks.

"So can we just go?" Harry sighed, relieved. "No one broke in. She's got her wand back. It looks like she just forgot about the detention… 'cause, well, her sheets are all rumpled."

Ron snickered.

"Oh, grow up, Ron. You know what I mean." And that was Harry's mistake. Walking towards the door, not realizing that his friend was not beside him.

He whirled around. But it was too late.

"Ron, nooo!"

But the sheet had already dropped to the floor.

It was a painting alright, on an enormous easel, and it was facing away from him, towards Ron.

Harry watched, upset and curious, as Ron's facial expressions changed. It began as shock, then amazement, and then realization. The redhead looked almost sick with fear and stood as rigid as if petrified.

"What is it?" Harry found himself asking.

But Ron could not speak. His face had contorted into a look of extreme terror. The color had drained from his cheeks. A horrible thought rose from Harry's subconscious…

"_Voldemort?_" he asked in a whisper.

A slight flinch at the name but Ron's eyes remained glued to the canvas. He shook his head.

"Then what, numskull!" Harry was annoyed as Ron slowly peeled his eyes away from the easel.

Finding Harry's gaze, his lips quivered. And, finally, he found his voice.

"…Snape," he said.

Hermione was hoping that whoever it was behind the door would be able to ease some of the tension that had taken over the office.

Professor Snape was leaning against his desk. His eyes, reluctantly it seemed, left Hermione to focus on the ebony doorframe.

"Enter!" he barked.

At first, nothing happened. The rich baritone of Snape's voice echoed slightly and Hermione was beginning to believe that the visitor had been scared away.

But then the door unlatched and creaked open, revealing the small frame of a student—a short thick-haired beauty that Hermione recognized immediately as the Parajanov girl.

Hermione could tell that she had cleaned up and located clothes that actually fit her.

Yeva's skirt barely reached her knees and her button up shirt was figure flattering. Even though, as a sixth year, she had the privilege of wearing what she wished on Wednesday and Friday evenings, as well as weekends, she seemed to pull off the uniform as her own unique style.

Hermione couldn't help feeling a little jealous as the girl obviously had hair as thick as hers. Only it was shiny, dark, and sleek, like umber and chocolate, and fell in choppy waves around her face. A look like that would take Hermione at least an hour. And it made her look like a Greek goddess, the whole smoothness of it.

It almost wasn't fair the way the silver and forest green of the school tie picked up the brilliant flecks of indigo in her overlarge eyes. And the size of her waist would surely be envied among her peers.

Yet there was something about her, something in her movement that was familiar to Hermione. How swift and fluid everything was.

"Good evening," she said quietly. Her voice was throaty. And her words were chopped. She definitely had an accent. To Hermione's surprise, Snape nodded his head and walked toward the girl with ease.

"Good evening, Yeva." He lifted the latch to a side cabinet and pulled out three silver candles--identical to the ones in the candelabras that adorned his desk.

"You'll be needing these in the dormitories, yes?" Snape asked her, in a voice so out of character, it made Hermione whimper a little.

And he used Yeva's name.

_I guess it's all first name terms behind closed doors… they're all Slytherins after all. That's why…_

And he touched her arm.

_Hermione, why do you care?_

"…Yes and Dumbledore showed me all of the gardens. And all of the enchanted rooms too. He's made me feel quite at home…"

Unconsciously, Hermione quirked her head to one side, trying to take the scene in and wrap her brain around it at the same time.

_They're talking like best friends. It's like I don't exist._

"Have you decided what you will do for the Ball yet?"

Yeva's question settled in the air like a stone in a puddle. Ripples radiated from it and caught Hermione's attention immediately.

Professor Snape's eyes darkened and he looked at Yeva with surprise. And then, without warning, he laughed.  
And Hermione died… Almost.

Such a deep, rich sound was Severus Snape's laugh, it moved through the eaves of the ceiling and resonated. It really was ridiculous how exquisite it was.

Both Hermione and Yeva looked a little taken back.

"I… Yeva, I don't think I'll be attending the Halloween Ball," he said through a chuckle. "In fact, it would be a cold day in hell before you found me in a costume."

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, I think it's a splendid idea!" Both heads turned directly toward Hermione.

The thrill of becoming part of that conversation slowly died and slid to her stomach where it felt empty and slightly sick.

_I did not just say that. I can't believe, oh shit, I did. Sonofabitch, I should just keep my mouth shut!_

"What?" Yeva asked the taller girl. Hermione was sprawled along the leather chair, legs crossed, a bit of the orange sleeve of her shirt was being nibbled on nervously.

"No one asked you, Miss Granger." His words slid through his teeth again and the menacing stare had returned, shattering any hope for Hermione—any hope that she'd make it out alive.

"I know, Professor."

Snape jerked his head back to the Parajanov girl. He spoke in a lower voice, hoping Hermione would not be inclined to eavesdrop. He was wrong, of course.

"Yeva, as much as I want to catch up, I have a detention to attend to." And he placed a hand on her shoulder.

To Hermione's surprise and horror, Yeva leaned in and placed a kiss on the tip of his nose.

_What the hell did I just see?_

And Hermione watched, dumbfounded, as Yeva walked towards the door. Turning and smiling brightly she added, "Oh and Dumbledore asked me to remind you that you left one of your coats in his office."

"Yes, thank you, Yeva." Snape did not smile, but his face was softer and more serene than Hermione had ever seen it. The lines melted a little and were less harsh. And his eyes twinkled for just a moment, in a way that reminded her of the headmaster.

"I'll be sure to pick it up later, tell him," he muttered.

And her little skirt swayed as she slipped to the door. She fiddled with the knot of her Slytherin tie and pulled it nervously as she lifted the latch. Looking back, she fixed Hermione with a careful frown, before deciding to turn once more to her Head of House.

"Good night, Yeva," he almost whispered.

"Good night, Uncle."

And she was gone.

Harry's eyes scanned the canvas before him. He kept breathing in little spurts, unconsciously trying to prevent himself from fainting.

Ron had backed away against the bed and sat on it, silently, as he watched raindrops streak through the grime on the dark window panes.

"This is freshly painted, Ron," Harry managed to say. "She must have done it sometime today… last night-"

"_Mione_ painted that?" he shrieked, wide eyed.

"Ron-"

"Mione can't paint! When has she ever painted anything? When has she ever done anything but read a bloody book?" He looked as if he was on the verge of either a childish temper tantrum, or launching into an old man's stroke.

"Ron, Hermione can paint. Obviously." Harry still couldn't believe that his Potions Master was staring back at him and silently thanked Merlin that it was a Muggle portrait, because at this point, he just couldn't handle another Snape, no matter how harmless or two-dimensional.

Ron gave a laugh, uncharactristicaly filled with healthy doses of gloom and doom, respectively.

"Well if she painted that depraved piece of shit, I guess she can paint anything." He slowly massaged his forehead. "I'm wondering more about the reasons _why_ she did."

"So am I, mate. So am I."

Harry couldn't bear to look at the picture anymore.

"…And I want you to clean out the entire storage closet, without magic! Sweep the floor, alphabetize the ingredients on my shelves—without damaging them—and then…" Snape paused for effect as he watched Hermione's face grow sad and her shoulders slump in defeat.

"Sir, I'll be here all night," she mumbled.

The silence that hung between them was as heavy as the tapestry that hung in her room. She fully expected to be scolded for whining like that. In fact, she expected to be torn apart and used as the newest rare potions ingredient. She did not, however, expect…

"Alright then, Miss Granger." His voice was clipped, and matter-of-fact.

She was tongue-tied for a few moments before she asked, "Sir?" And wrinkling her brow, she waited for what he could possibly say.

"Yes, Miss Granger, forget the busy labor. I've changed my mind about your… _punishment_." And his face grew grotesque with malice.

Dangerously low as his voice was, the heat of the room doubled, rather than chilled, as it usually would have under these circumstances. Hermione briefly wondered if she had passed on into Hell, as she could actually feel the swelter of the sconce flames… the sconce flames that occupied the wall ten feet away.

She forgot all about painting, contour lines, and the fact that the sour man staring at her actually had a niece, actually had family—at Hogwarts no less. She forgot about everything that made her happy and had no choice but to wait for her punishment.

"I want you to write for me," he whispered, breaking the silence.

"A composition… of the reasons why you find it so necessary to be so obnoxiously insufferable!"

Every word he spoke was overly enunciated and his head jerked in a rigid movement that was not natural, causing stringy hair to adhere again to his cheeks.

Raising his wand, he waved it into the air, conjuring a message of glowing green letters. In his own handwriting, the assignment soon clearly stood between him and his sorry student.

Hermione recalled Harry mentioning that Tom Riddle—Voldemort—had used this spell in the Chamber of Secrets…

And now, she herself was face to face with the green-glowing letters. The topic of the paper that would consume her time, and make her life doubly difficult in addition to her already filled schedule.

She could see the pleased smirk upon Snape's still malicious face between the lines of the message. And she hated him for giving her more to do that would take time away from painting.

But she would never back down. Not from a challenge like this…

_Two qualities of decent human beings are sophistication and respect. You exhibit neither._

_List the reasons that you, yourself, have for being a silly little know-it-all. And do not be surprised if the list is lacking. For I will not be._

_You do not have the decency to hold your tongue in any situation, and are as naïve as the day you were born. Explain to me, in detail, why it is that you find it so imperative to be proud as you are, whereas your assuming attitude makes you as one dimensional as the words on the pages of the books you read._

_This must be at least seven feet of parchment and is due the first of December._

Hermione read the message for a third time and tried her best to ignore the prickling feeling behind her eyeballs. She would not show emotion, as hurt as she was, because that was what he wanted.

"Do I make myself clear, Miss Granger?" he asked, smiling. A venomous, mean smile.

"Crystal," she said as she placed her sweaty palms on her denim-covered thighs, feeling the heat they caused. She looked at them then, closing her eyes when she feared the tears would spill.

She did not know how long she sat like that, oblivious to everything.

And once she had composed herself she glanced up, to find that the message had vanished, and that her cloak was folded on the desk that no longer contained her professor.

She stood and put it on, silently cursing herself. Silently cursing the world, her assignment, and Professor Snape… she turned around.

He was sitting at a smaller table in the corner, poring over notes.

_Some intricate potion._

Poring over something that did not concern her. Would never concern her. And that was what she deserved.

_Some complicated potion, judging by the look of those ingredients._

His gaze never left his parchment. But he knew she was there. And he knew that he could not handle her presence any longer.

"Get out of my office, Miss Granger."

The words were spoken not with anger, not with malice. In fact, they seemed almost normal. Like the way he spoke to Yeva. Unlike the characteristic way of Snape handling problems, this was not based on the tone of his voice, but rather the words he said.

And they told Hermione all she needed to know.

He could not stand her. And there was nothing that she could come up with, despite her extensive knowledge, that would change that fact. It was something all the information in the world wouldn't fix.

She left.

The sheet had been replaced as Ron left for the Gryffindor common room, mumbling about how he'd lost his appetite for the next month.

Harry had placed a small note on the dresser.

_Hermione Granger actually lost track of her wand. Something's seriously up._

_We'll talk later._

_Love,  
Harry_

Hermione sighed as she stared at the wand on her nightstand. It was painfully true. She hadn't even realized it was gone.


	9. Severus' Secret

The Invisibility Cloak felt like the midnight air.

It had been almost two years since Hermione had worn it, and yet she felt its familiar weight and inhaled its scent with such anticipatory delight, it surprised her.

Every waft of the mothball smell kept bringing back affectionate memories of her first year in school. It was always her railing behind Harry and Ron, keeping a careful eye on them as they broke every school rule possible, and all the while, secretly enjoying every minute of it.

It was difficult to wrap her mind around such a thing as an invisibility cloak. To describe, accurately, what wearing one felt like was difficult. It seemed to her to defy all common sense. And the only tangible evidence that one existed, was that you couldn't see your feet as you walked, and no one could see you… unless, that is, you carelessly allowed a limb to stray from under its protective folds.

Suddenly, an appropriate analogy dawned on her.

It was like wearing fog.

From under it, the view was obscured, and it was a thick feeling, having it on, weightless and invisible as it was.

Guilt rose in Hermione suddenly, at the thought that Harry didn't know she had borrowed it. But, the now imperceptible Hermione Granger figured, he wouldn't mind—considering the fact that he had, in all likelihood, seen the painting.

And if he had, he would probably want her to get away and think things through. As well as ask, in the kindest way, if she needed a professional councilor.

But she forced that thought into the box in the farthest corner of her mind. At this point in time, it was the least of her worries.

The long hallway that lead to her room was pitch black, and thanking the gods that Harry had the good sense to return her wand to her room, she whispered a fervent "Lumos!"

And even with Lumos lighting her way, the castle was foreboding, seemingly going out of its way to make this night unnerving.

Hermione's room was the only one on this floor of the tower. But she knew that it would not be the only within.

Turning another corner, she came to a door where an old, rusted nameplate announced that what lay beyond her in the darkness were stairs.

"_Alohamora_," she whispered. But it was not necessary, as the door was already unlocked. Swinging it open, she was startled that she had heard nothing but a soft "click", as she was expecting a creak of hinges and a swirl of dust motes.

There was only a slight change in temperature, as the tall staircase came to view and lifted a humid aroma of ancient wood and parchment onto her face.

Heat rises, makes perfect sense.

And then she climbed, with a quickened pulse at the unexpected exertion. Each step giving way to another just after it.

She moved upwards in a circular motion, coiling around a center cylinder of stone, as she counted each step… seventy one…seventy two… one hundred and four.

Hermione's heart pounded, and the rush of blood brought new color to her skin. Heat radiated from her body, and she held her arms out from her sides in an effort to cool off. And in a pose highly uncoordinated, she took in what the landing had to offer.

The stone was slightly damp here, in spite of the heat. There was a small window just beyond the reach of her left hand, and at her right, her wand lent its light to reveal the secret.

All the way up here, she was surprised to find a door, obviously marked for a purpose by the barely visible plaque that hung in its center.

Pressing her body against the aged wood, she could feel each year that the tree had been alive. Her wand followed the raised letters, and with a sharp intake of breath, Hermione immediately decided that she would, indeed, go out onto the "Mezzanine" to enjoy the rest of her night.

* * *

The sound of a cauldron crashing against the stone walls of the dungeons reverberated and filled the cold place with its strange echo. 

The wail of the furious Potions Master, who had viciously hurled it across the office, was almost equally unsettling.

"Damn it to everything!" The simple statement was spit through a clenched jaw and fueled by two and a half hours worth of all-consuming frustration. Snape, as usual, was not happy.

"A whole… A whole year I've worked on this!" His tone closely resembled that of a child absorbing the reality of death. It was not a sight one normally saw, that of Severus Snape on the verge of sobs, with hot tears pricking his narrowed eyes.

He was stewing with emotions that he didn't care to acknowledge. Mainly fear, as he realized, with resentment and fury, that the potion he had set out to create was far more complex than he had anticipated.

In all of his years as a Potions Master, he had never quite understood why the ingredients needed for the most powerful potions were fairly simple, while the ingredients needed for potions that accomplish single easy tasks were the rarest and hardest to find.

In fact, he had always based his recreational research on experiments that set out to prove this theory wrong. But now, his careless decision with this particular potion had set him back a great deal of time… time that he did not have to waste.

With misplaced malice, he seized his notes from the nearby table and ripped them into pieces, growling with every violent movement. He twisted on the balls of his leather-clad feet and sent his cloak swirling quickly around him. Waves of his hands and kicks of his legs sent unfilled potion bottles to the ground, and various contents of tabletops went crashing to the stone floor at odd angles. Shards of glass instruments lie glistening in the firelight, a testament to his utter vexation… dangerous if you were to get too close, but dazzling if you were to look at it the right way.

He moved through his office with precision, destroying his work with every swift move he made. And at the moment, he didn't care what was broken. Even the more precious items didn't matter. He knew that they would be left to waste in the wake of his impending death anyway.

Indeed. He knew beyond a doubt he would be killed if, in the end, this particular potion failed.

What was eating away at his composure most, beyond the fear, was the tight-chested sensation of utter helplessness. And though it looked as if his face betrayed his heartache, Severus Snape was never known to feel such things. This ache was simply the vulnerable feeling of knowing that he did not know how to move from this point, concerning the plan, and this task he was intended to fulfill.

He clenched his jaw, as well as his fists at his sides, and turned to survey the destruction once he was nose to stone with the wall at the far end of his office.

Tossed parchment made pattering sounds as it settled in a tangled heap on the floor, over top of what he knew was a toxic mess. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he balanced his weight on the palms of his hands as he pressed them against the slick, cool stone of the ancient room's wall.

He heaved a sigh and allowed his head to drop, framing his sweaty brow with his chin-length hair and focusing his eyes upon the first object he saw… a crystal ball.

A Christmas gift from Sybil.

And if he hadn't been so soft, he would have smashed it against the wall like the cauldron. If she had walked in and given it to him at this moment, he probably would have smashed her face in with it. The horrid thought was slightly pleasing, and he shuddered as a wave of guilt passed through him.

This was the familiar darkness beginning to stir again. And who could blame the old bastard? Playing both sides of the chess board for so long had destroyed so much… he was barely able to muster the emotion to enjoy a simple cup of coffee… at least he thought so. This all-consuming thing was the shameful gloom that made him weak in the first place.

In retrospect, he thought the gift of the crystal ball was wasteful. She had meant well, but now he saw it as foolish. To give a murderer something out of appreciation and… affection?

Certain people didn't deserve Christmas presents. It wasn't right. He wasn't right.

And so, like the beach is exposed as the tide rolls out… in the wake of his fury he felt that overwhelming desire to die.

In fact, he would have been the first wizard to perform the killing curse on himself, if it wasn't for the not-so-simple task of playing double-agent. His redemption, as if there were such a thing.

All this, just so the damn Potter boy could kill his former master. So the wise old Albus Dumbledore could stand in his victory robes and greet the whole of the world from the peak of the highest hill on the grounds, clutching a white death mask as a symbol of the defeat of evil forces. A mask that he wore monthly, and painted with gore.

His found his fingertips tracing patterns on the smooth glass of the orb. Trelawney had insisted that its contents were unknown. And since he knew that the old bat was a loon by virtue, he wanted nothing more than to tip it from its stand, expose what was really beneath, and prove her bloody wrong.

He would have, had he not been fading.

In the dim glow of the aftermath of his failed year of work, he couldn't help his tired mind blurring into memories of his childhood… his father backhanding the tearstained face of his mother… He hated himself now for not loving her more. For not showing her that he was stronger. For all those nights he lay motionless in bed, listening to her screams and hearing her pain while she was losing her mind.

It was beyond him now, as a grown man on the verge of weeping in remembrance. The fact that, as a boy, he couldn't have understood the possibility of emotional stress as a trigger for his decisions haunted him. He was even then, as a tiny, filthy ten-year-old, losing his mind along with mum. Tiny bits of his reasoning escaping with every sob that escaped her mouth.

It doesn't take a wizard to understand depression. Intangible things that resemble it - like trust and love, cannot be broken down into a simple spell.

If they are true, they cannot be captured in magic… Not the wizarding kind, at least.

Wise words of Albus Dumbledore echoed and whispered over and over again somewhere in his restless head.

And it was in that moment a certain wizard chose to speak up from the doorway he was standing in.

"Severus?" he whispered. The smooth crackle of his voice against Severus' labored breathing was soothing, even though Snape could not bring himself to admit it.

Albus moved into the messy room, carefully dodging fallen textbooks and broken jars of beetle eyes. He moved in determined strides to reach Severus, until his hands were near his shoulders and his soothing voice was inches away.

"Severus, I sensed your distress." He spoke with such tenderness that the prickling feeling of teardrops came back to Snape's eyes too quickly for his comfort. "What has happened?" he asked then, placing both hands upon his shoulders.

Suppressing sobs like a child, Severus swallowed the lump in his throat as he prepared to tell the old man that all was lost.

"The potion, Albus, it's-"

"Yes, Severus, the potion is going to require much more testing and research. I already knew that." He smiled. "But the real concern is why you've destroyed your laboratory. Or rather, what it is that has tormented you…"

Snape turned and gave a look to the headmaster. A rising of both dark brows and a quick closing of his eyes could not conceal, no matter how much he wished it would, a single teardrop that escaped the inner corner of his lashes, resting a little below the crook of his beautiful nose.

"I… I do not deserve to be comforted, Albus." He kept his eyes closed as he spoke. "Nor do I deserve to be treated with any form of respect."

"I think you do." Albus was smiling again. His gaze a little more glazed than usual, as if an uneasy emotion had seized him as well.

"No." A simple reply as Snape turned his back again and took a few strides towards the fireplace, a section of the office that had not been littered with supplies.

"Yes, you do." There was such emotion behind that- a powerful trust that Severus felt he did not deserve. He felt so unworthy of the powerful wizard's affection that he couldn't bring himself to look at the man. The single tear drying and tightening its path, his eyes opened and stared directly at the dancing flames past Albus in the hearth.

"Leave me, Albus." He said with a soft voice.

"I won't."

"Please, Albus, just go." He struggled with the words because all he wanted was for him to stay. "I don't need you anymore."

Of course he didn't mean it, Albus knew. But, just to hear the words cut deeply. This war was causing him to lose his touch. Or, was it that Severus was falling into territory that no one could reach?

"I need you, though," Albus said with a slight clearing of his throat.

"And you have me, Albus. Here to serve you. No matter what, even if it means death. I owe you my life!" He quit yelling as he watched the headmaster's head droop a little. Defeat made Dumbledore look like an imposter. Squaring his shoulders, "You cannot change me," Snape said.

And then there was silence.

"No, I cannot change you, Severus." Dumbledore picked up one of the fallen desk chairs and sat in it.

Continuing after he had secured Severus' reluctant eyes, "Changing people is nearly impossible, unless they want to change." He smiled again. "I know that I am not the one who will change you, Severus. I am vain to think that I have the power to." He twisted his beard between his fingers.

"But, you will change. I feel it in my bones." He smiled a scheming smile. "There is someone with the power to do so."

"What are you going on about?" Snape looked at him sharply.

"There is someone for you… Someone who will change you, Severus."

* * *

The Mezzanine level of West Tower was beautiful. Even in the wee hours of the morning, when light could scarce be seen, the intricacies in the stonework glistened and twisted with mystic detail. 

Hermione found herself running her fingers over the sandstone carvings. The Invisibility Cloak lay forgotten on the floor, and her bare arms absorbed the moonlight. The antique rose garden was a labyrinth of shadow below, sweetening the air with its fragrance.

Her red satin nightgown lifted in the chilly breeze, until she felt exposed from the free circulation of it. The thin straps slid down her shoulders as they always did, and as she leaned forward beyond the balcony, her left breast was exposed completely.

Having nobody around to see, she lazily reached to cover herself, noticing the result of the chill, and how sensitive the fabric felt brushed against her there.

She thought of the painting then, and how it had elicited the same reaction.

And she thought of him.

She thought of his face, and how challenging it was to paint. His features, so delicately cruel. She thought of how he moved through the halls, and the shapes his cloak created as it billowed, and the breeze it left in its wake when he brushed past. She thought of how much she longed to know him, even though she could not understand why.

He could have thrown her against the wall, slapped her, stripped her of her Head Girl title… she wouldn't have cared. She would be captivated as ever.

When a distant thumping of footsteps brought Hermione from her thoughts, she darted for the cloak and threw it about herself in an ungraceful whirl.

Someone was coming up the stairs she had just taken, heading for the door, heading for her.

She moved swiftly into the nearest corner of the balcony and stood pressed against its cold surface. Standing still, as if she too had been carved into the stonework. Just in time for the heavy handle of the Mezzanine door to click slowly and reveal the form of the very man she puzzled over, even ached for.

Between them, only her nightgown and the liquid fabric of the cloak. She thanked the gods for the latter, or else she would have been so dreadfully exposed in practically underwear.

The satin chaffed again against her chest and she was mesmerized.

But it was not only his nearness that allured her.

The moon touched his face as he leaned upon the balcony, and caused his cheeks to glisten with fallen tears.

He was not harsh in this moment—only the saddest, most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. And as she watched, she too could feel the prickling of tears.

He wore no cloak, no black coat over his loose, white linen shirt, and his strong hands gripped the stone with such a despair, it was unbelievable she had been standing in the same spot not moments ago.

The black orbs that were his eyes appeared to sting as they absorbed the garden below, and it took him ages to blink. His chest rose and fell like he had to force himself to breathe.

She couldn't think of anything that could possibly crumble the walls Snape had built up around himself, but the sadness in contrast to his classroom persona was startling. He looked so helpless.

It was the moment she started to wonder why he had decided to come here, that he turned on his heel and moved his graceful hand to the bridge of his nose.

He traced the wall with his left index finger and Hermione watched in amazement as a door materialized with his touch.

_His touch._

She watched as he stepped through, and in that "now or never" moment she chose to follow, brushing only far enough behind to keep herself unnoticed.

Until she was inside… another hall, filled with paintings. Wizards, hundreds of them.

And at a closer inspection she realized they were all artists.

In here, it smelled like a blend of strong tea and dark chocolate- bittersweet and spicy. The walls were completely black, composed of tall and ancient ebony wood, which drew the eye to the artists in their frames that adorned them.

Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh. They all seemed to look down at her, telling their secrets with their stares.

She noticed that some moved within their frames, while others did not. And, being of Muggle descent, she knew this meant that the unmoving possessed no magic but their art.

And she felt an even greater appreciation for these stationary canvases. She held close to her heart many memories of nights when all her books were set aside, and she reached for the brush instead of the wand.

A man with a short gray beard winked at her, his dark eyes kind and gentle, his robes trimmed in gold.

Startled, she recognized the pained face of Henry de Toulouse-Lautrec, his fingers clutching the infamous Absinthe Cane to his chest.

Her eyes searched his canvas until she realized she had come within a dangerous distance of the dark man she followed. Invisibility cloak or no, she'd be damned if she walked right into him.

Snape had stopped.

His shoulders were slumped, as opposed to habitually rigid, barely hinting at his exhaustion.

He breathed a few incantations and a portrait materialized upon the wall, three times the size of the rest, and, within seconds, Leonardo da Vinci positively beamed at them both.

Though he was only a portrait, the kind mischief in his eyes was enough to give Hermione the impression that he knew she was there.

But she had but a moment to notice this, as the most peculiar charm took place before her eager eyes.

Snape moved closer and the canvas became transparent, displaying a glorious room beyond the bearded face of the wizard.

From where she was standing, Hermione could make out an expanse of marble floor and a large, blazing hearth.

_He must live here. How can this be?_

But it was just so. A man this unique would never cease to amaze. And Hermione understood at once why he was a not a man to dwell in the dungeons.

_He's a man of class._

Snape stepped through the portrait and disappeared to the left. And it was only too soon that he'd done so, that Hermione saw the room disappear.

_No._

All she saw now was da Vinci, smiling down at her as if she were the most important thing in the world.

There was definitely competition material for Dumbledore with those eyes—those kind, vivid baby blues. Yet, that could not convince her to leave her Potions Master here, not the dark man wrapped in a mystery behind this painting… that she had held her breath to chase.

She moved forward and lightly touched the paint.

Solid.

Removing the cloak from the upper portion of herself, she cleared her throat.

Da Vinci did not seem in the least surprised. In fact, he winked.

"I need a password for you to enter, my dear." His soft words startled her. He had a sweet medieval tone and it accented his silver tunic and tall wizard cap.

"I am sorry, I don't know it," she said as she blushed. She knew that she was not to be here, and the guilt began to rise in her cheeks.

"You're up to something aren't you?" he asked. His eyes never lost their sheen of delight. He never dropped his smile—In fact, it broadened.

Hermione smiled back.

"I didn't plan to be, Sir." She paused. "You see, I live in this tower, and I was curious to follow the staircase. I had no idea…"

"That Severus lived here as well?" He finished her sentence.

"Well… yes." She frowned, and looked down to her feet… or at least, where her feet should have been.

His mouth curled into another smile.

"Of course he does, my dear," he said. "He is talented, after all, isn't he?"

Hermione shot him a puzzled look, but smiled, thinking that she understood. Perhaps she had found someone at last, besides Dumbledore, who actually appreciated Professor Snape for what he was.

"Yes he is," she replied.

What did he mean by talented? Of course Snape was talented. You couldn't teach Potions without being talented. And he was, in fact, talented enough to play both sides of the war… yet, coming from an artist such as Leonardo da Vinci…

"Ah, but do you know just how talented?" He cocked his head to the side, his beard sliding against the silver and black embroidery of his chest.

Gesturing to hush, he pressed a finger to his lips.

He motioned for her to come closer. And as he did so, he became once more transparent.

Hermione stepped closer to da Vinci as he had instructed, letting go of the cloak as she did.

"You cannot go beyond the frame, my dear. But in return, he cannot hear you," he whispered to her from the enchanted wall.

"Mischief suits you, you know," da Vinci said through airy yawn. She was now so close that she could no longer appreciate his portrait. Yet, she wasn't afraid.

For beyond the new window was her Potions Master. And he moved to what she could only describe as the most marvelous piano she'd ever seen.

It's rich, warm wood was glazed and gleaming in the firelight, its open hood was facing her and branded with the Slytherin crest. The floor was so immaculate that the fire caused a blurred reflection of Snape at the bench.

His fingers deftly moved the pages of a blank songbook until she recognized his pointy scrawl in notes. Heavy black dots and lines created an intricate composition that she was anxious to hear.

Piling the invisibility cloak against her back, she leaned against the edge of the frame as he moved to strike the first chord.

And it was minor. Sweet, melodic… it moved. And it touched the next note like a catching fire. Building, burning, and erotically sad.

A chord, and it was rich. Tingling.

At once her eyes prickled and she felt the tears there as gooseflesh rose from her arms and legs.

Her breasts were pressed against her knees and she was all too aware of them as she watched.

The melody was painfully dark and deep. It hurt, it really did.

It cut and bled, and the piano moaned. Chord after chord and the little comforting notes between pulled a force stronger than gravity.

Snape's chest heaved and he swayed a little as he gripped for each key. Pressing his elegant fingers to each as if they would disappear and leave him with nothing.

He caressed them with such tenderness she thought she would snap in half if he were to touch her in the same manner. The pain of not knowing what it was that she needed made her all the more frustrated.

She was caught between anguish and arousal. Between anger that he could never treat her so tenderly, and compassion for the fact that he could only alleviate his demons through this gorgeous instrument.

And she was watching this, as she shouldn't be. And yet, it felt as though she was meant to be there with him. Just to see him, and to comfort him with her unknown presence.

He allowed a tear to slip then, past his deep-set cheeks, and she raised a hand to the invisible glass, pressing against the barrier—pretending to catch it with her fingertip.

It slid away from her.

This moment may have been her only chance to see a part of Snape that she had never been able to know.

And so she listened to the sonata in such a way that she was certain she would never forget.


	10. Three Cheers for Blood

It was the week before Halloween. 

The air had become uncomfortably cool for most of the students who still longed for summer, so the majority had given in, and resigned themselves to turtlenecks and thicker cloaks.

It happened to be a Wednesday evening, and most of the sixth and seventh-years sat in more casual clothing, lazily sprawled along the grass, enjoying the company of their own houses.

It was tradition for the eve of the first Quidditch game to be an all-house practice. And while the majority of Slytherin refused to grasp the friendly implications of this get-together, most students intermingled amongst each other.

They shared picnic blankets and fairy lanterns and socialized with students in different houses when they otherwise couldn't have.

One expansive blanket, situated resolutely in the green and silver corner of the pitch, contained what the upper level students liked to refer to as the "Slytherin Populars". Though, a more suitable name would have been "Slytherin's Sluts" because they were, in fact, just that.

Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Daphne Greengrass were sprawled provocatively in ripped black jeans. Their matching green skintight tops announced, "Draco's Dolls" in glittery silver lettering for all to see.

Pansy donned a leather biker jacket and an obscene amount of eye makeup, while her friends exchanged compact mirrors to inspect their dark lipstick.

They made themselves up like whores. But the world be damned if anyone ever waxed honest and told them that.

Still, as the rest of the school muttered and made sidelong glances, Draco Malfoy delighted in every lousy second of it.

While on his broom, he would throw obscene gestures their way and lift his uniform shirt to expose his abs. And as if it was their job, the girls would cheer and hoot in response, batting their mascara-ed lashes at him while he sped around the pitch.

Like a perverse cycle, it did nothing but egg Malfoy on… Shortly after practice he would be found sucking the face off of Pansy on the lawn or in the stands--a disgusting, animalistic spectacle to those students that believed Draco to be overrated… which was pretty much every non-Slytherin.

However, the girls had taken a different interest today, much to Draco's surprise, when he glanced down from his brand new Nimbus Flash 3000 and saw them in deep conversation with one another.

Daphne's long red hair blocked his view of the rest of them, but he knew that the sight of the back of her head instead of her pathetically enthralled eyes, for once, was an indication that something was afoot.

"What the hell do you think is up with her?" Pansy whispered as she gestured to a blanket nearby.

Padma Patil was sharing a copy of Witch Weekly with Yeva Parajanov.

Being that Ravenclaw was the most diverse Hogwarts house, the Ravenclaw girls had asked Yeva to join them because they were interested in hearing of her cultural background.

Yeva's pretty eyes were filled with delight as she joked with Padma about something in the magazine…

The Slytherin girls whispered and giggled at something Pansy had said.

"Hey, Parajanov!" Millicent called from her lounging place, her square jaw giving her an odd masculine profile. She gestured for the younger Slytherin to join them.

Yeva's attention was caught and the Ravenclaws offered sympathetic glances.

She stood and pushed her dark brown hair from her face, looking so innocent in her white corduroy jeans and black turtleneck. Her Slytherin scarf lay open about her neck.

Daphne moved to the side to make room for the smaller girl on the blanket and Yeva modestly sat with her legs folded to one side, resting her weight on the palm of her manicured hand.

"Hello, Daphne, Millicent… Pansy."

Yeva looked to each of their faces as she said their names, and smiled genuinely. She was not careless and knew of the consequences that often came along with being on their bad side.

"I think Slytherin has a great chance for the cup this year, what with Draco Malfoy so fit and ready for anything. He certainly plays like a champion," Yeva said as Pansy narrowed her eyes.

"Ha! Like that's likely, with the invincible Harry Po-" Daphne started to snap but Millicent elbowed her in the arm.

"You have a thing for Draco?" Pansy asked nonchalantly, deceptively keeping her eyes concentrated on the pattern of the closest picnic blanket.

Yeva laughed.

"Not even a little, Pansy, I've known him since we were five years old."

"Oh," Pansy looked relieved.

"What were you doing with _them?_" Daphne asked, pointing an accusatory finger towards the Ravenclaws' blankets.

Yeva shrugged. "They asked me to join them," she said.

"Well, you can do better than that… you're a Slytherin," Millicent spat through her frog-like mouth. Her eyes were glazed and her lips glistened in the sun with spittle, moving it seemed, without cognitive thought.

She looked even more atrocious in makeup, Yeva thought.

"You should sit with us; we'll show you everything you need to know about the best Hogwarts house." Pansy smiled conceitedly.

Yeva silently wished the girls would leave her alone. She didn't need their idea of assistance to get by.

"That's very kind of you, girls," Yeva said. "But I'd rather choose who I sit with after I've met everyone."

The three girls' jaws dropped, exposing varying degrees of dental hygiene. Millicent shot Daphne a look.

"Where are you from anyway, Parajanov?" Taking control of the conversation once again, Pansy learned immediately that Yeva was not one to be easily controlled by simple peer pressure. And much like a pregnant tabby, she leaned back on her elbows, leather lapels sliding to either side of her overlarge breasts. Breathing in the air, she pulled an Acid Pop from her coat pocket and slid it past her glossy lips. After a moment, the girls heard the sugar-on-enamel click as she secured it between her teeth and her cheek.

"You have an accent that I don't quite recognize…" she commented as the stick hung out the side of her mouth, comically turning her smirk into a grotesque smile.

Before Yeva could give a reply, Draco Malfoy slid in to sit behind the girls. He snaked a predatory arm around Pansy's waist and gave a cold stare to the surrounding crowd.

"What are we talking about?" he asked, with a sickening grin plastered to his face. "Anything interesting?"

"Not really," Pansy whispered before nibbling at his ear.

He pushed her away unceremoniously and moved closer to Yeva.

"The girls giving you a hard time are they, pet?" he asked with a dumb smile.

"Not anything out of the ordinary, Draco, and I am not your pet." Taking on a more appropriate posture for sparring, she glared at him.

Daphne and Millicent snickered to each other. Pansy watched Draco with wide eyes, praying that what she knew he was about to do would be stopped by an act of the gods, such as a very painful lightning strike or a flash flood.

"In that case, will you come to the ball with me?"

Pansy nearly fell over. The only audible sound for a moment was her intake of breath, and the click of her Acid Pop falling past her teeth onto the blanket.

"Draco, I thought you were going with me!" she whined. "We've gone together to the balls since first year!"

Malfoy didn't seem to be paying attention. He was too preoccupied with the dark angles of Yeva's face and her intoxicating eyes to notice anything else.

Yeva looked quickly to the blanket and then to Pansy.

"Draco, I…" she started.

Daphne made a move to hold Pansy back in case things turned ugly.

"I can't," Yeva said. "I can't go to the ball with you."

Draco did a double-take and Pansy let out a sigh of relief. Since when did Draco Malfoy take a liking to girls other than her? Her feelings were hurt… proving for the first time in a long time that she was, indeed, capable of human emotion.

"What do you mean, Yeva? You should be honored to have me as your escort!"

His face was reddening with anger and his eyes held malice not so different from that of his father.

The wind picked up and twirled through everyone's hair as Yeva glanced around self-consciously, noticing how many other students could overhear the uproar.

"You are like my brother, Draco." She tried to calm him. "You must understand that it is nothing against you."

"A pure-blooded witch such as yourself could never do better than a Malfoy!" He thrust his face two inches from hers so his next whispered words could barely be heard.

"I don't know what has changed in you, Parajanov, but you would be smart not to disgrace me."

He moved even closer, until Yeva could feel his sour breath against her ear.

"Things are not as they used to be and I hold more power than you could ever imagine. My father is the Dark Lord's right hand man." He licked her cheek possessively. "…And, Slytherin or not, bitch, you had best obey me."

There was little more than three seconds of silence before Yeva thrashed her hand across Draco's face.

The sound of the slap cracked through the quiet conversations on the lawn. Many heads turned immediately towards the commotion in the descending twilight.

"Draco Malfoy!" Yeva howled disdainfully. "Don't you dare!"

She stood immediately and took a step towards him.

Even though most students could not see the look of fury on her face, they knew immediately that she was not one to be toyed with.

Malfoy slid backwards and practically cowered against Pansy and her friends.

"Do not speak to me as you would one of your whores!"

Her indigo eyes darkened to a soft black and she clenched her fists in dangerous passion. The lanterns flashed on the angles of her face dramatically, and the darkness brought out the wild shadow of her hair.

All things considered (even her barely adequate height), her unique genes had made sure she looked unsettlingly like a certain Potions Master.

"You forget, Draco, just how much power you are dealing with…" Her eyes narrowed daringly.

"And you can rest assured that if you try that again, my uncle will see to it that you won't move for a week!"

Throwing her scarf about her neck, she stalked away through a path that the students were only too happy to accommodate.

* * *

**Three Days Earlier…**

"It seems we will be entertained tonight, friends…"

Voldemort smiled grotesquely and squirmed with delight, his face pure malice.

The inner circle of Death Eaters laughed as if on cue. Voldemort smiled a second time at their enjoyment and moved to speak again.

"Severus Snape… _beloved_ Potions Master, has decided to botch the potion that is the very key to our victory…"

An eruption of catcalls and hisses came from the spectators as a few masked men heaved a shivering lump, tangled in black robes, to the center of the torture dais.

Snape barely breathed. His hair was a knotted mass, glued to his forehead, and giving minimal coverage to eyes nearly swollen shut.

"Well, Severus, the choice is yours… and I don't do this often." Voldemort dropped to his knees and lifted the Potions Master's chin with a long grey finger.

"We could beat you to death…"

A few bloodthirsty howls erupted from the audience of spectators.

Voldemort lifted a hand to silence.

"However, as enjoyable as it sounds, it will take mere minutes." The grey finger withdrew from Snape's chin and his head fell to the stone.

"And I find that a few minutes of torture is just not all that… _satisfying_ anymore. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"

Snape moaned in pain.

"I didn't think so," replied the Dark Lord.

"Therefore, I will grant you one final chance to redeem yourself." The gray leather skin of Voldemort's face contorted with evil. "One final chance to bring me the Elixir of Strength… brewed to perfection… Is that understood?"

The Potions Master sobbed.

"Yes, my lord, yes… anything, my lord, anything…"

The dark wizard swerved away from Snape's tattered arms as they groped for the hem of his robes. A laugh began deep in his chest and rippled from thin twisted lips as he surveyed the crowd once more.

The eager eyes of Death Eaters gazed back, lust apparent in their expressions.

"Oh but first, Severus," Voldemort whispered.

"_Crucio!_"

* * *

Hermione had been working on her Charms homework. 

The bay window of her bedroom was open, allowing the breeze of the evening to permeate its chill. The white of the twilit autumn sky was elegant with wind and the silver crescent of the moon.

Beyond the antique rose garden was the Quidditch pitch, and Hermione could see the dotted lights of the fairy lanterns surrounding the festivities.

Harry had begged her to go, but with much effort she had convinced him otherwise… Quidditch had never been her "thing". And, to be quite honest, after the midnight stroll a few weeks ago that had resulted in her witnessing Snape at the piano, she found her mind drifting in a very different direction indeed.

_Hogwarts, a History_ had not been touched in over a month, which was enough for her to know that she was not the same.

But it wasn't until she took the time to realize that she often spent half the night painting, that she came to the conclusion she had changed for good.

Of course she had kept up with her classes, seeing as she could have graduated two years early with her extensive knowledge. And it was very seldom for her to need to put forth an effort in any of the lessons… even Potions and Transfiguration that were the most demanding.

Her mind was elsewhere. And no matter how strange she felt to admit it, she knew she had left it with Snape.

Oh Snape, how gentle he had been… how raw and full of pain as he wept like that. What beauty she had seen… A beauty she had overused within the paintings of recent weeks until her fingers ached.

Potions class had been awful, the way she yearned to hold him in her arms and tell him how much she wished to comfort.

She had come to realize that Snape was only a man beneath the sneers and the nasty disposition… something that no one seemed to want to acknowledge.

And now, every time she watched him move in that black billowing cloak, she thought, not about the bat-like resemblance, but about the body that was hidden underneath. There, inside, the human being that everyone refused to accept and pushed away, as if the head of Slytherin was some revolting freak.

He was not revolting.

And Hermione decided that she wouldn't mind being labeled a freak herself if it meant she could be near him…

Just then, a large barn owl swooped past the open shutters of the bay window sending parchment flying and fallen autumn leaves fluttering to the windowsill.

It landed on the coat-rack and, nearly knocking it over, bowed it its head towards Hermione. Positioned in its beak was a letter presenting her name in a loopy scrawl.

_Dear Hermione,_

_By my request, Dumbledore has granted you permission for an extended day trip this weekend, and I would be honored to have you to dinner in Hogsmeade on Saturday night._

_I know this is very sudden and possibly surprising, but I have been waiting to ask you for a long time and I am hoping you will agree to join me._

_Please owl with your answer as soon as possible, and please, don't feel forced to say yes. I want an honest reply as to whether you will agree to a date, and I won't hold it against you if you decide that it would be uncomfortable._

_However, if you do decide to come, meet me at the Café Soleil at eight o'clock._

_I will be sitting in the back left corner of the piazza, at the table beneath the blossoming cherry tree._

_Have a wonderful evening._

_Love,  
Remus_

Hermione stared at the folded letter in shock. She studied everything down to the monogrammed "R.L." in the letterhead.

He had certainly been right about the surprise.

Remus Lupin?

Asking her on a date?

It was so unheard of, strange, untouched… she didn't know what to think. Dating a teacher?… Impossible.

It was not itself unappealing, but she had thought it so taboo.

And Lupin. He was not in the least unattractive. She had even fantasized about him on lonely nights in her dorm in past years. But she had to admit that deep down she had always thought him to be, well… _gay_.

He was just too good looking. And, being realistic like she was, she just didn't think men like him would give girls like her a second look. Romantically.

Remus had always been kind to her and… _Remus_. There it was… his name.

The name he had left after the "love"… and _that_ word.

It was overwhelming, and perhaps it was sheer curiosity that drove her to her parchment drawer… Perhaps it was the fact that she knew she would be the envy of her peers if they found out she had been on a date with Professor Lupin.

She knew for a fact that Lavender Brown had a mad crush on him. And, naturally, Hermione was as tempted as any girl…

After feeding the owl a few peanuts from a bag of Bertie Bott's Trail Mix on her dresser, she moved to the redwood vanity to retrieve her calligraphy quill and a pot of copper ink.

She thought about every time she had been near Lupin in the past four years… his class this year… the way the sinews in his arms flexed when he pushed his shirtsleeves back and pressed his hands to the podium in his classroom… the full moon… those delicious ice grey eyes…

_Merlin, the full moon! Isn't there one this Saturday evening? There couldn't be… no._

Hermione sighed, gathering all the possibilities of dating a werewolf.

_Remus,_

_I would be delighted to join you this Saturday.  
I will see you at Soleil at eight o'clock._

_Regards,  
Hermione_

Strange as it was to be on first name terms, he had always addressed her as Hermione.

It felt like the right decision as the owl swooped away with her reply.


	11. Antiquity on Ice

_The stranger stood within disguise  
And touched me as I walked alone,  
Thorns and blood within his eyes,  
A place the coldest winds have blown._

Delicate and undisturbed,  
He spoke to me in frozen words.  
A brittle wisp of winter wind...

I found myself alone again.

Hermione awoke with a start and a racing heart.

Her breathing was as quick as her pulse and the satin nightgown she wore was drenched in sweat, sticking to her thighs and chest with a suffocating dampness. The sheets were strewn across the bed, pillows tossed along the floor.

Raising herself so that she rested her weight on her forearms, she realized that she was all turned around and that her head was where her feet should be. Craning her neck before her head heavily hit the pillow topped mattress, she shivered from the draft of the window she had left unlatched.

The bed-table clock read 4:08.

Whatever had plagued her dreams she could not remember. Even without conscious memory of the event she had concocted in her mind as she slept, her heart still pounded like a hammer.

_A nightmare… Only a nightmare._

Serenely twinkling stars met her eyes as she pulled the latch closed on the bay window. Almost jealous of the peace they emanated, she watched them as they glittered with infinite magic.

Hermione reached for her composition book, keeping an old thought in her mind that a bad dream could be cured with a poem, or a song.

She did not feel compelled to fall asleep again, even though it was Saturday.

Crookshanks crept along the wall near the hearth, his shadow tall and fluffy on the opposite wall.

Firelight was soothing, and, sitting at the window ledge, Hermione let the world fall away. Early Saturday morning was forgotten and replaced by a place between sleep and awake… a daydream.

_I am inspired,_ she thought.

Humming to herself, low and throaty, the early hour was apparent on her vocal chords. But the sound moved with a natural smoothness, the tune so elegant and at first unrecognized… capturing the melancholy that was so familiar.

His song.

She did not realize, at first, that her voice could mimic the sonata with such grace. But it was becoming so much more than a piano piece.

It was becoming a melody.

"I can't be writing a song to _this_!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast at the thought, in the dim room.

Crookshanks jumped and howled at the sudden outburst, knocking candles over and scattering parchment over the spilled wax on the floor.

Hermione stood and snatched her wand from the nightstand. Clearing the wax from the floor with a murmured spell, she picked up the cat and placed him on the bed.

"I'm sorry, Crooks," she murmured. "I just surprised myself, that's all."

But that wasn't all… She felt that now familiar tug at the back of her consciousness. Ever since that night she had been trapped, she couldn't free her mind from the melody.

Crookshanks moved to the center of the jumbled comforter. He smoothed his paws between its folds with soft crinkling sounds and settled again into a snoring ball of fluff.

Hermione sighed.

The truth was beginning to scare her.

There was a storm brewing inside her that was gathering speed. A storm that threatened to destroy everything she believed in. And though it existed without the force of wind or rain, she thought, for a fleeting moment, that it might have been fueled by something stronger… Something like love.

"That's absurd," she said again to the still room. "An awful thought, Hermione. Snape of all people!"

But as she moved into the bathroom and lifted her nightgown to step in the bath, an all too familiar tune found its way again to her lips.

She stopped walking halfway to the water tap.

"To hell with it," she snapped, and hummed louder, hoping that like finishing the bath, the end of the song from her lips would bring her peace.

* * *

Snape stood in the center of Dumbledore's office. A few nasty bruises were visible again on his forehead and around his eyes, and an angry gash was making itself painfully known on the apple of his cheek.

"Severus, your charms are wearing off again," Albus said and flicked his wand to replace them with a whispered incantation.

"I don't care about the charms, Albus."

"Well, we don't want anyone worrying."

"You mean throwing a 'Snape's been beat-up' party? I hardly think the students would be able to contain themselves."

The headmaster chuckled.

"As I have told you. I care little about my appearance in this war. These are bruises that I have earned and deserved. I have a debt to you and so I will again stress the importance of keeping an eye on the castle wards. These plans of an attack--"

"Yes, Severus, we've been over this."

"They are targeting you, Albus."

"I know, you've said-"

"I have not said it enough!" he shouted.

"Severus."

"The Dark Lord's next move is to destroy you. The weakness it will cause to our side is a triumph I do not believe the Order is prepared to deal with."

"When the time comes, my boy-"

"No." Desperate anger was plain in his voice.

Albus sighed. His fingers brushed the tip of his beard in thought.

"Come sit here." Dumbledore patted the other cushion of the sofa and nodded his head its direction.

The Potions Master, in all his black swirling glory, moved to oblige. He bowed his head a little, the dark shield of his hair falling from behind his ear. He sat as far to the edge of the couch as possible.

The headmaster sighed.

"Albus." Snape's words were much softer than normal. "You will live to see the end of this war. You must."

"Severus." He paused, regarding the stern look on Snape's face. "If I decide to die it does not mean you will have failed me."

Just the way he had worded it was amusing: "If I decide to die."

"Then it will mean that I have nothing else to live for," Snape replied with disgust.

"Now that is selfish, Severus, and you know better," Dumbledore said with a frown.

"Perhaps I don't want to know better, Albus. What I want more than anything is to die as well." Snape shifted uncomfortably. Though he wouldn't admit it, he was surprised that he had said what he had said.

The heady feeling of confessing such a thing sent his mind reeling back to a night that he wished had turned out differently…

* * *

_The chill of rain stung Severus' skin and the sleet that drove like a storm was powerful enough to penetrate even the thick wool of his cloak. Discomfort served only to distract him from what was to come._

Voldemort stood in the shadows of ancient oaks on the outskirts of a clearing in the dark forest. Patches of previously fallen snow and frozen brush were glistening with the ice, which shook in the whipping wind. He did not bother to hide his face, and his sunken cheeks and serpent eyes pierced the windy cold. Moonlight barely touched his figure, and his tattered cloak splayed haphazardly around the immaculate ground. Evil was on display in a winter wonderland. The shadowed demon wizard stood alone in the sleet, turned to snow. A sight grandly macabre, disturbing.  
A violent paradox.

Severus slowed his pace, quietly separating the twigs and overgrown dead tree limbs that rotted below the snow. His already wind burned hands scraped against bark and bladelike icicles. What he wouldn't give to return to his dungeons to read in front of his hearth. But he would only be avoiding the inevitable. He would be avoiding what he grandly deserved.

The Firewhisky in his blood swirled low with his pulse, his breath became short, decorating his surrounding space with small misty clouds. He could smell the alcohol on himself. And once he neared the clearing he sneered, snapping his knuckles and fingering his wand, making sure it was still in place. Why exactly, he didn't know. He cursed under his breath.

Voldemort turned ever so slowly. Severus stumbled half drunk into the edge of the clearing. His raven hair tossed to one side. His cheeks a rare red, and a bright cut on his jaw. Upon eye contact he sputtered, almost sobbed. His black eyes brimming with what for all intents and purposes were tears. He fell to his knees. The ice stung his hands, streaks of red smeared into white. Voldemort's cloak was inches from his lips.

The pain of years past flooded back. Two tears fell to the ground.

"My lord." A whisper, barely audible. "My lord," he repeated.

A moment passed. Voldemort stood watching him writhe, no emotion in his face. His eyes narrowed. He was thinking.

Severus heard what he thought was movement. Though movement quickly turned to laughter. The Dark Lord was chuckling. Every cackle deep in his dry throat.

A cold bony hand reached down and splayed itself upon the younger man's soaking head.

"There, there, Severus." Voldemort sinisterly patted his head. The Dark Lord knelt beside his fallen colleague.

"There, there," he continued. "Tears have never suited you."

Severus turned his head slightly so that he could see him. Voldemort grinned with evil glee. He lovingly petted Snape as though he was his dog.

"I… I came back to you, my lord..." Severus coughed.

Voldemort's hand violently fisted a handful of Snape's hair. He stood, dragging Severus to his feet. Snape staggered drunkenly.

"Severus, Severus... my... tut tut. You sicken me." Voldemort threw Snape's face dramatically to the left. "You're playing the adoring beggar, the needy one that begs for mercy... but I know as well as you do that you feel nothing but fear and despair. You are as cold and unfeeling as I am. Do you take me for a fool, Severus?"

"No, my lord." Snape had regained his balance and his eyes widened. An eyebrow slightly raised... "Never..."

"Never? Why… aren't you noble?" he laughed. Severus glanced at his feet quickly, then forward; his eyes focused on the tree furthest from him in the clearing.

_"What have you been up to all these years, Severus? What could you have possibly done to amuse yourself in your position? Surely, torturing students has been rather looked down upon since I've last been around...hmm. Tell me Severus, how did you ever survive without... satisfying that... signature lust for blood...?"_

"I--" Severus began.

"You— are a fool... and it's a shame... Crucio."

Voldemort had no need for wands with Unforgivables. He had basically invented them. Although he was no stranger to witnessing this torture, his eyes still widened with delight as Snape fell to his knees crying out in pain. 

_Once Voldemort had a sufficient laugh and Snape's eyes began to roll to his skull, he lifted the curse. Severus slumped but immediately spoke._

"My lord, forgive me. It has been my intention to return since the day I left." He let his jaw go slack a bit, attempting to quietly spit saliva and blood to the side. "I thought... I thought that I could trick them... as I have... for you. They think I'm with them, my lord. Fighting for them." He coughed. "They are the fools." Another painful cough. "My allegiance is to you. Only you, my lord. And I only wish I could have returned sooner... but that bloody Potter boy... I… please, forgive me."

"Please?" He chuckled darkly. "Years with those of poisoned blood have certainly had an effect."

Severus shifted his weight to his elbow and began to rise, squinting against the moonlight that invaded his pain-filled face.

"Oh but, Severus, you know me well enough to remember. I haven't seen you in years. We must to make up for lost time... Crucio."

This time, Snape remained on his stomach. He was too weak to even curl to the fetal position.

Voldemort lifted the curse and smiled. "I had quite missed you as a colleague. I thought you would never return."

"I wanted to return..."

"Crucio," Voldemort whispered.

Severus flopped to his back. His ribs were crushing and his spine was cramping... He was pleading.

Voldemort lifted the curse and swooped down on top of Severus his nose inches from his face. His eyes were dark and blood red, narrowed into slits. "I'm in such a mood for killing right now, it's so lucky you dropped in..."

At this point Severus had had enough. He didn't care. He was in so much pain that dying seemed nice.

But no... he couldn't… he somehow couldn't... there was too much at stake. He wasn't unfeeling. He wasn't the empty shell that he had been. He would prove The Dark Lord wrong. He would do what Dumbledore had asked of him. He owed his life to Dumbledore. And he wasn't about to give it up now.

Voldemort flung his bony calloused hand across Snape's face sending a splatter of blood across the clearing. "Now… Severus, I have your blood on my hands, I have your fate lying at my feet," he took a deep sour breath and lowered to an evil whisper... "and you have a sad, sorry life to remember..." His voice lowered still. "I'm quite interested... give me a reason why I shouldn't kill you now."

Snape closed his eyes to calm his breathing. He slightly turned his head so the gash could cool against the wind. He drifted a little into reverie.

He was at Hogwarts and it was spring, the year before Potter's arrival. The final Quidditch match of the season had come and gone. Slytherin had won, putting his old house on top. He walked along the lake in the evening sunshine with Albus Dumbledore while the rest of the school supped in the Great Hall. The giant squid moved a little and the water of the lake glistened and rippled. Dumbledore looked at him and his eyes were as kind and glistening as the scene before them. For that reason, he was content...

His eyes snapped open. Voldemort was studying him, sickly admiring his prey. He dramatically widened his eyes as Snape began to speak, at first only mock listening.

"Because, my lord. I live to serve you. You will have the whole world bow before you. You are right. I am a fool. I deserve death… But now, death is a gift. Wait to kill me until you have achieved what you began. The most powerful wizard needs all the souls available to bring them to the top. I serve you now and forever, my lord." And Snape slipped into unconsciousness.

Voldemort rose to his feet. He reached for his wand and pointed it toward Severus' chest. "Avada..." The beginning green light grew then dimmed.

Something about the look of the fallen Potions Master, like a dead raven, gaping wounded in the snow, caused him to lower his wand.

"No, he will not die, the fool is right, I need him... He will not die… yet."

* * *

"You don't want to die, Severus," the old man said as he rose from the sofa with a focused annoyance. "You are being very self-centered for a man that wishes to say good-bye to the world. You may feel that way. But actually wishing it upon yourself is as wasteful as your days as a Death Eater."

"Albus-"

"Severus, I am an old man! I have seen enough in my lifetime to last a thousand years, and I am only 152!"

Snape had grown very quiet again.

Dumbledore calmed himself rather quickly. He had not intended to become so upset.

"The more I watch you battle your inner demons, the more my heart goes out to you, Severus. But you must get rid of this idea that you have failed at life."

Snape snorted.

"I will not be around forever. It's about time you listened to yourself and realized how much of this life you've missed…"

At that moment the sunshine parted the clouds outside the window, and the golden beam of it fell in through the pane, pervading them both in bright warmth.


	12. Cafe Soleil

Hogsmeade smelled like hot pumpkin pie and cauldron flames. Autumn seemed to wrap its arms around the little town, its leaves floating through the air every so often on a cool breeze kissed with sunshine.

Hogwarts students bustled in and out of packed shops, laughing with their classmates, their pockets overflowing with sweets.

Hermione and Ginny walked around the corner of Canticle Street onto a quieter lane of cafés and specialty shops. There, a group of first-years gathered around a trio of jugglers in jester costumes. But aside from their laughter, the area was pretty peaceful.

"Do you mind if we take a look in the bookshop, Gin? I heard the second edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ is going to hit the shelves soon and I'd like to reserve a copy."

Ginny gave Hermione a pointed look that was not at all what the older girl had expected.

"Actually, Hermione, I was hoping we could talk," she said seriously.

Instantly concerned for her friend, Hermione was startled.

"Of course, Ginny. Is there something wrong?"

"Well, no. It's just… let's go sit over there." She gestured to a bench near the fountain at the center of the square.

"Sure," Hermione answered, puzzled.

The two girls walked in silence to the edge of the fountain and sat with their backs to the statue of Circe.

Ginny was quiet, seemingly gathering her thoughts before she spoke to her best friend.

"What is it, Gin?" Hermione asked softly.

"Hermione, you've completely changed." Ginny recoiled slightly at how blunt she'd been. "It's just, well, I'm not the first person to notice… I hardly know who you are anymore."

Hermione sighed.

"I'm sorry, Mione, I'm your friend and everything. But I think that means we're supposed to tell each other things and--"

"I know," Hermione said, raising her palm gently, but effectively cutting her off. "I also figured that you're not the first to notice. And I know that it must seem so out of place."

"Out of place? Hermione, you don't go to the library anymore. You spend all your time in your room doing Merlin knows what. And that's your business. I respect that. But you've been avoiding all of your friends."

"Gin-"

"Harry's told me you've started sneaking around at night, alone. He's noticed his Invisibility Cloak's gone missing more than once in the middle of the night. Can you blame me for worrying about you? It's gotten to the point where everyone in Gryffindor's at least wondering what's going on."

"Ginny, please, I know." Hermione furrowed her brow a little.

"Plus, you've changed your wardrobe." Ginny looked her up and down, her hand splayed in an act of affectation.

"I certainly hope that's not a bad thing." Hermione frowned.

"No, not bad, just… different. You're awfully dressed up for a Saturday of shopping in Hogsmeade."

This she could not deny.

Hermione wore a black cashmere turtleneck that fit snugly to just below her hips. A creamy Victorian lace skirt fell gently to her knees where a pair of black high-heeled suede boots met the uneven hem. Her hair was twined into a tousled French braid, soft curls straying from behind her ears and at the nape of her neck.

She wore no makeup but a swipe of the vanilla lip balm she always carried with her, adding an additional sheen to her already radiant face. She would never need makeup.

Creamy skin that held the tone of a white-fleshed peach, a natural rose glow to her cheeks and lips, enhanced in heat or cold. Her eyes were chestnut rich and defined with lashes dark enough to give her the illusion of the liner Parvati always used.

Hermione had the sort of beauty women envied--the kind of beauty makeup was created to emulate. Though, she would not be one to think this of herself.

"I'm actually meeting someone tonight," she said with a small smile.

Ginny's eyes widened and she let out a squeal.

"Oh, who?"

Hermione looked up to the blue sky overhead. The sun shone down on her face with welcomed warmth. She smiled.

"Professor Lupin."

Ginny grabbed her friend's shoulders and because of the sudden shift, nearly fell into the fountain.

"What!" she screamed.

"Shh, Ginny!" Hermione looked around, panicked that someone would think she was breaking up with Ginny.

Thankfully, the first years had gone, along with the juggling troupe.

"Yes, I am seeing Professor Lupin tonight. It's--"

"As in… as a date?"

"Yes, I suppose. As a date." Hermione blushed a little at that. It was still unbelievable to her and she couldn't help but grin at her friend's excitement.

"Hermione!" Ginny shrieked.

"Ginny, sssshhh!" Hermione looked around again.

"Sorry…" Ginny looked around as well, realizing her fault. "Hermione, do you know what this means?"

"Besides the fact that I'm dating a professor?"

"Only one of the best looking professors that's ever graced Hogwarts halls! Oh gosh, Lavender would kill you if she knew."

"Ginny, you can't tell anyone." Hermione became serious again in her tone of voice.

"I know, I know. I would never, Hermione." She gave a goofy grin and poked Hermione's arm playfully. "No wonder you've been acting so strange lately! This explains the whole Invisibility Cloak stunt perfectly."

Just after the second or third nudge and wink, Ginny suddenly looked as guilty as if she'd committed a crime.

"Oh, I'm so sorry I thought it was something serious. I'm so sorry I thought you were up to something, or in trouble. I just read into it wrong. Here you've gone and snagged yourself a man! A professor no less!... And one hell of a sexy professor!"

"Ginny, it's really not what you think it is."

"Oh, but it could be. He must really like you. Who wouldn't?"

Hermione immediately felt the familiar ache of guilt at Ginny's words. The last thing she wanted was to lead Remus on.

She was flattered he had asked her. And if he really had feelings towards her she couldn't help thinking she was the luckiest girl in the school. Nevertheless, however much she wished it were that simple, Remus Lupin was secretly not the professor she wished had asked her to dinner.

No matter how new and unsought these feelings towards her Potions Master were, they could not simply be shelved at the back of her mind anymore. The way she felt when he was near her. The way he appeared so gorgeous in the moonlight of The West Tower. She had not forgotten. She knew it was impossible to forget.

"Hermione, are you listening to me?"

"What?"

"Silly, I just said I bet he'll ask you to the ball."

* * *

The door to The Three Broomsticks swung open and closed behind the two Gryffindor girls. The pub was busy. Almost every table was full of students laughing, drinking Butterbeer, and eating sandwiches.

Madam Rosmerta was bustling behind the bar, pushing new drinks and cocktails in every direction on the battered wooden bar-top.

A charmed radio blared the commentary of the occurring match between the Chudley Cannons and the Ballycastle Bats. Most of the seventh-year boys leaned in over their lunch to listen. They gathered around the bar stools on the left side of the pub, swearing and poking at each other with each new score. Some of them were perhaps a little tipsy.

_"And a nice Bludger hit by Joey Jenkins sets the Bats back a few meters… and… Oh! The Bats have the Quaffle…"_

"Damn it!" Ron Weasley shouted above the crowd, his red hair flipping in exasperation. "They'll score for sure now, they will."

Hermione glanced quickly at Ginny.

"You didn't tell me the boys were going to be here, Gin," she said in a low voice.

"Oh I know, Mione. I thought I'd surprise you. I arranged for us to meet up for lunch!" Ginny pulled her friend's arm a little harder than was comfortable. "Come on, they're all at that table by the window."

Sure enough, Ron had just joined Seamus, Neville, and Harry at the table nearest the window. The heat from the pub had fogged up part of the pane and a jack-o-lantern was sitting on the window sill, its lopsided face leaked with the wax from the candle inside it so it appeared to be drooling.

"Well, I am very much surprised, Ginny," Hermione said, remembering Harry's note on her dresser and the painting. She winced a little.

_"…And a penalty against the Bats… haversacking. No score!"_

"Bloody serves 'em right!" Ron shouted, taking a swig of Butterbeer that dribbled down his chin. He looked up at Hermione, then quickly looked away.

"Ahoy, Ginny, Mione… come siddown!" Seamus called. "We got us another round of Butterbeer and a fish and chips platter."

The girls moved into the empty seats, Ginny with a grin on her face and a sigh of relief as she set down her shopping bags. Hermione seemed to focus her attention to the deep wood grain of the table-top.

_"And it seems Gudgeon's spotted the Snitch… he's moving in, but oh, a Bludger narrowly misses his right ear… Ballycastle's outsmarted them for another play!"_

"Ballycastle's as dirty as Slytherin, they are!" Ron shouted again. "They should foul them just for being so hideous."

"Ha ha! It's no wonder they're Malfoy's favorite team," Neville interjected as a bunch of Slytherin sixth-years cheered on the Bats from a few tables close to the bar.

"It's no wonder… 'cause their Seeker looks like Snape!" Seamus added. "The greasy bat for the Bats!" He laughed until his face turned red and was shortly joined by Ron and Neville.

Harry met Hermione's eyes for the first time. His expression conveyed exactly what Hermione wished it wouldn't have.

Confirmed. He had seen the painting.

But then, as she thought it couldn't get any worse, Harry glanced sideways towards Ron and back to her.

Ron stopped laughing for a few seconds to make eye contact with Hermione. His expression was unreadable… until he started laughing again, rising with Seamus to move closer to the source of the commentary.

"We'll come get you when the fish comes, mates!" Neville called to them.

Seamus gave a thumbs-up sign.

"What's up with Ron, Harry?" Hermione asked immediately.

Harry eyed her suspiciously then, hoping she would understand…

"He was the one that found your lost wand."

"Oh," was all she could say. She was not prepared to deal with Ron seeing her masterpiece as well. So far he hadn't said a word about it.

_"…And Gudgeon snatches the Snitch! Winning the match, 230-180 Chudley Cannons!"_

"Woohoo! In your face, Ballycastle _Butts_!" Ron squealed, slapping Seamus a high-five. "That means… On to battle Wimbourne next week!"

"The Wasps don't stand a chance," Seamus said as he slid back into his chair at their table. "I'm gonna find Bagman and bet him on it. Ten galleons."

"Not if I get to him first," Ron replied.

The waitress zoomed by the table and set a bottle of malt vinegar down as she passed--a sign that the food would soon arrive.

"Nice to see you've finally decided to join us, Mione," Ron challenged.

"Yes, Ron." She glared at him, obviously not in the mood to have an argument.

Harry glanced between his two friends, desperately needing to say something to keep them from hexing each other under the table.

"So, Ginny, where did you two go this morning?" he asked, pleading with her to lighten the mood of their get-together.

"Oh, Harry… we found the most wonderful perfumes. Hermione ordered her copy of the second edition _Hogwarts, A History_. And then we stopped in Zonko's for some Every Flavor Beans… and we looked at the new Puffskeins in the pet shop…"

"Oh no! You mean, you didn't make a stop at Wendelin's?" Ron interrupted.

"No." Ginny looked at her brother in question. "Why would we need art supplies?"

"No reason." Ron snatched another bottle of Butterbeer from the tray that the waitress had just brought.

"Hermione, do you have any idea what he's talking about?" Ginny asked her, confusion apparent on her freckled face.

"Um… Oh, Neville, what happened to your leg!" Hermione avoided the conversation and noticed two crutches, a surprisingly Muggle device she hadn't seen in ages, propped against the windowsill behind his chair.

"Oh, Hermione, didn't you hear?" Ron asked sarcastically. "You'd think the Head Girl would know when the Head Boy has to be sent to the Hospital Wing!" He turned to Neville and raised his bottle. "Sorry, Nev, I guess she's just been too caught up in her own business to care about what happens to us." He narrowed his eyes as Harry kicked him in the shin.

"I was wondering when you'd notice, Hermione," Neville said rather sadly. "I fell down the stairs to the dungeons yesterday and broke my leg in three places."

"Neville, that's horrible!" Hermione said in shock. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"I did," Ginny said resolutely.

"Madam Pomfrey can't do anything about my allergic reaction to Skele-Gro. I seemed to have developed it from using it so often, she said. So now I'm stuck with the crutches for another three weeks." Neville said dryly. "But hey, at least I won't have to embarrass myself at the ball!"

"What, by going on crutches?" Seamus asked confused.

"No, by dancing," Neville said with a grin. "Now I don't have to dance. I have an excuse… I was never that good at it anyway."

Everyone laughed a little at that.

"You girls have dates to the ball?" asked Seamus, an amusing look in his eye.

"Hermione looks like she has a date tonight," Ron added icily.

"And it just so happens that I do!" Hermione had had enough. Ron was not going to be free to walk all over her like this.

Harry coughed a little on his Butterbeer and stared at her in shock.

Ginny looked apprehensive.

"I do have a date tonight, _Ronald_!" she said loudly.

"Who with, _Hermione_?" he challenged, bringing his face closer to hers from across the table, his cheeks red from one too many Butterbeers. Their miniscule amount of alcohol was starting to have an effect. "Someone who likes to finger-paint monsters!"

He chuckled at this, unaware that the rest of the table was not laughing.

Harry was the only one who had any idea what was going on.

Hermione dropped her jaw in shock at his boldness.

"I'll have you know that who I date is none of your business! Just like what I decide to do in my spare time!" She stood and slammed her hands on the table, negligent of the waitress standing near with a steaming plate of fish and chips.

"I can date… and for that matter, _paint_… whoever the hell I want!" Her eyes widened in challenge. More ringlets came loose from her French braid.

"So you're dating Snape."

Seamus sprayed Butterbeer all over the table, coughing and sputtering. Neville gasped and Ginny let the vinegar spill a little too much over her chips.

"That's it, Ron!" she shouted, causing heads to turn in every direction.

Ron cringed at the sudden silence of the place, looking everywhere for a way out of the wrath of Hermione Granger… (He ended up finding it sitting at the bar.)

"How dare you even suggest something like that! I can't stand the fact that you feel I have to answer to you every second of every day! And even if I was dating Snape-"

"Hermione--" Harry started.

"Harry, you stay out of this! Even if I _was_ dating Snape, spending every waking hour in the dungeons, painting ten thousand portraits of him and hanging them all over the walls of my room… Oh that would get to you, wouldn't it? I should try it. It might keep you from going through my things! What if I told you I cared for the man, Ronald?"

"Mione--" Neville started.

"No! I'm not finished!" She took a deep breath. "What if I was dressed up like this to meet Snape tonight?" She gestured to her outfit. She was having fun, the expressions on their faces so fearful and disgusted were just fuel for the flame. It felt good to let some of the energy go.

"What if I was going to run off to a deserted café somewhere to be with him… call him _Severus_. To think, even kiss him passionately in the street!"

"Ugh, Hermione…really…" Seamus was glancing over her shoulder.

"No!" she screamed. "All of you, I am an independent woman! I can date whomever I please. And even if I told you I was madly in love with Severus Snape, I would expect you to respect that! All of you, even you, Ginny."

"I--" Ginny started.

"So that's it!" Hermione ended her screaming fit with a few deep breaths, her face was red and her throat was hoarse.

The entire pub was silent, save for the radio that was advertising magical cameras. It seemed that every customer was holding his or her breath.

"Well fine then, Hermione," Ron said with a smirk forming on his red face. "Since you're so determined to snog him… here's your bloody chance." He chuckled.

Hermione blanched.

"He's right there," he said with the smuggest expression she had ever seen.

Her stomach felt like it was dissolving and evaporating. She could feel the seconds passing as her heart beat in her ears. Tears swelled to her eyes as she looked between each one of her friends. She noticed a table of Slytherins trying to conceal giggles at her dawning realization.

Ron made a sharp gesture towards the bar, his finger pointed over her shoulder. His eyes were challenging, holding menace, as well as the last laugh.

She gulped and turned, already swiping a finger to the tear below her cheek.

And she saw him there, in all of his distinction. His black robes pooling around the bar stool, his elbow folded on the edge of the bar, his elegant fingers clutching a tumbler of Firewhisky.

One of his boots was tucked into the crossbar of the stool and his other leg was stretched out in confidence, giving him a most dignified pose for a man on a bar-stool.

But the look on his face was one she had never seen.

He appeared to have come to some horrid realization. A sour scowl dominated but his brow was furrowed in surprise. His face conveyed a look of utter stupefaction. His silence screamed, "What!"

She looked to her feet, then back at him.

He obviously didn't know what to do. He studied her with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth. And although, under normal circumstances she would have thought his speechlessness to be impressive, there was nothing she felt more than a severe embarrassment.

She grabbed her shopping bags, and without a word or even a glance to her friends, pushed her way through the crowd and out of the pub.

* * *

Hermione spent most of the afternoon hidden away from the world in the bookshop.

Her pride was hurt more than anything else, but she'd never let on to anyone that her heart ached as well. She didn't mean to make such a spectacle of him, mainly because she knew he was hurting inside, even more than she was now.

Whatever had been bothering the man had caused him to weep alone on an abandoned tower in the middle of the night. Observing that was enough to make her insides ache with the need of comforting him… soften the lines of his face once more like she had seen in his office that night in detention.

This was not the way she had ever wished to go about involving Snape in her life. This was not the way she was supposed to feel after allowing her feelings to escape her mouth.

No one besides her really knew that she had meant those words, but he had still heard them. And the disgust and shock on his face was enough to make her want to live in a cave for the rest of her life.

Her skin was still burning with humiliation, her ears red with heat. Her eyes were stinging with tears even though she was sure he must have returned to the castle hours ago.

What did he think of her?

Through a gap in the shelves, a girl caught Hermione's eye.

Yeva Parajanov.

Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she paused on the opposite shelf with a large book in her hands, reading.

She wore a white fluffy sweater and a pair of tight jeans. The white of the material was stark in contrast to the mocha of her skin and her long eyelashes were sweeping low as she looked down the page of the alchemy book she chose to pluck from the shelf.

Hermione found her appearance to be unsettlingly irresistible. Because she spent so much time studying the features of her Potions Master, she could not help but pick up on the similarities in the features of his niece.

Gods, she definitely had his nose, and his bone structure. Though she was very short, she was blessed with that exalted stance that was so distinctively his.

Hermione had to get out of there.

"Hey!" Yeva's voice sounded from behind her.

Too late.

Hermione turned, smiling the best smile she could muster. Considering who she was looking at, or rather, who the person she was looking at resembled, it was intimidating. But Yeva's eyes were surprisingly soft for a Slytherin… and for a relative of Snape.  
"Hermione Granger, right?" the younger girl asked, thick accent rolling over the words.

"…Yes," Hermione replied tentatively.

"I'm Yeva Parajanov," she said with a smile.

"I know," Hermione replied.

"You're a seventh-year right?" Yeva asked, raising an eyebrow in such a way that gave Hermione no choice but to avert her eyes. "Friends with Harry Potter?"

"Yes, and a Gryffindor, if you didn't know," Hermione said proudly.

"Just because I'm a Slytherin doesn't mean I act like one."

"Well, that's a relief," Hermione said, adding quickly, "though, I'm not a Pureblood."

"As long as you're a witch, I don't have a problem with you."

"Fair enough," Hermione replied, not willing to go into a debate about the mistreatment of Muggles by inattentive Purebloods. She would have to save that for when she knew this girl a little better.

"I'm sorry that you had to endure my uncle in detention," Yeva said simply as she reshelved _Alchemy in Eastern Europe_.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in attempts to blot out the memory.

"You should know that I probably deserved it," she said disappointedly.

Yeva rolled her eyes playfully and fixed Hermione with a pointed stare.

"_No one_ deserves detention with my uncle Severus." She laughed. "He is quite… intense."

Hermione snickered.

"Such a nice way of putting it."

"Well, he is family," she said with a sigh.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said sarcastically.

Yeva smiled thoughtfully.

"You know, it is unfortunate that you do not really know him… What you have seen, Hermione, is mainly façade."

_And if you only knew how I truly feel..._

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione found herself asking.

Yeva frowned.

"Because I can see that you are a smart witch… kind at heart." She looked to her shoes rather sadly. "I feel like our world needs more people like you. Especially now… now that everyone finally sees that it only takes one bad person to start a war…" She trailed off.

Hermione was struck by her comment.

"Muggles have had the same problem… in their history… their wars."

"Then why do they not help us?"

"I don't think it's fair to presume they understand our world, Yeva," Hermione said honestly.

"They do not want to," Yeva replied.

Hermione looked at the ceiling and placed a hand on her forehead in exasperation. "I didn't mean to turn this into a political debate. This is awful, our first conversation and my mouth is already running wild."

"My uncle says you're famous for that."

"Oh does he now?" Hermione asked jokingly. "And just how often have I come up in conversation?"

"Not often."

"I see," Hermione said with a suspicious stare. "You're a pretty good person too, Yeva," she added as an afterthought.

Yeva looked again to the carpet then ran her finger absentmindedly along the spines of the books nearest her right hand.

"You don't really know me."

"I don't have to… just like you said--"

"I just hope we can be friends." Yeva cut her off.

"Of course!" Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Why would you even feel the need to ask?" Her bright smile beamed.

"Most of the Slytherin girls are obnoxious."

"And I'm really starting to believe the Sorting Hat doesn't work on transfer students. You may belong in a different house," Hermione said honestly.

In between stacks of infinite wisdom with Hermione Granger, Yeva could only smile.

* * *

Hogsmeade was a different world at night.

Fairies took a liking to the boughs of harvest trees, imbuing them with hues of red and gold. A soft light could then be seen, reflected on the damp cobblestone roads.

Circe's fountain was illuminated, crystal water streaming from the folds of her ivory marble robes, splashing to a polished cerulean pool beneath her sandaled feet.

Storefront windows were auric with light. A rich, almost caramel brilliance surged from their wooden frames… compelling passers-by to admire the town's antique charm.

Scents of burning embers, timber, and herbs permeated the chilly air, assaulting Hermione's senses as her suede heels clicked along the sidewalk. She noticed her fingertips were a comfortable cold against the skin behind her ear when she lifted a few stray strands of her hair.

Honeydukes was filled with a mysterious lilac smoke as she passed. A woman appeared to be pulling a small child away from the basket of grape-flavored Firepops, and failing miserably at assuring the shop-owner she would pay for damages.

With a small smile, Hermione turned the corner of Canticle Street for the second time that day, past the bookshop with its stained glass mural of Greek goddesses, past the glowing marble fountain of Circe, past the Hog's Head Pub, and onto Sunset Lane.

Sunset was a whole new spectacle, with its historic piazza and wrought iron terrace that overlooked the sparkling inky surface of the lake. If a perceptive tourist were to lean a few feet over the railing of this terrace and look up, they would actually see the tip of the North Tower of Hogwarts peeking out from between the jagged cliffs.

The terrace had been there since the year the school was founded, and the path from the side gate once led to a dock for paddle boats.

It was the kind of place Hermione always said she never wanted to leave… and remained one of the most beautiful places she had ever been.

The cherry tree towards the rear of the square was enchanted. Even in winter its rosy blossoms filled the branches. And then it was a most fantastic sight. To watch the little pink petals flutter to a bed of snow was one of Hermione's fondest third-year memories… back before a threat of war, the onset of N.E.W.T.s, and the complications of falling in love with a professor… back when things were simple.

Café Soleil was an indoor/outdoor café. The indoor part was dimly lit and romantic, lined with invisible glass windows that lead to the terrace. The outdoor part was situated at the rear of the piazza, with tables all around the cherry tree. It was bustling with waiters and hosts busily clearing tables. For being one of the top restaurants in Wizarding Britain, it was always this busy.

Hermione nodded when she was approached by a short witch in an apron and asked if she had a reservation.

"I'm meeting someone here," she said softly, smoothing the cashmere of her sweater in an act of nerves.

"Oh yes," the witch replied in a voice that held the quality of a chain smoker. "He is waiting for you… right this way, dear."

Hermione did not need to follow the pointing hand of the woman. Her eyes had already met that of her date.

He looked absolutely striking in a fitted navy blue sweater and black chinos. She noticed he had donned a pair of black leather boots that were not all that different from a certain Head of Slytherin.

_Hermione, get him out of your head._

His eyes were like fire and he smiled with such conviction she almost lost her balance. There was no denying Remus Lupin was an attractive man.

"Hermione, so glad you could make it," he said. "You look lovely."

Hermione blushed and sat across from him, her eyes followed the pattern of the iron tabletop before resting on the flickering candle at the center of the table.

Once she and Remus had taken their seats, the light of the small flame cast shadows to both of their faces and reflected the plastic of the menus.

"Thank you, Professor," she said.

"Please, Hermione, call me Remus," he said softly, pulling a bottle of chilled wine from an ice bucket that she hadn't noticed at first. "It will seem much less awkward that way, I assure you."

Hermione smiled, meeting his eyes again.

"I don't find it awkward at all, Remus," she lied. "Thank you," she added as he filled her glass with a crisp, white wine that she recognized instantly as Pinot Grigio.

"That's good to know, Hermione," he said sweetly. "Because I have been waiting since the beginning of last year to tell you how I truly feel."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, feigning confusion yet hoping he would change the subject.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" he asked. A simple question with so deep an implication.

He studied the woman blushing before him with a softened gaze; an aura seemed to surround her with magnificence. Was it really this simple? Could she so easily return his affections the way he felt them for her?

It would be a dream then. Too perfect.

It was much too complicated to explain… the way he felt, almost a separation from reality. A selfish twinge even made itself known at his realization of wanting her all for himself. Was he worthy?

_Yes, I am_, he thought.

"What can I bring the two of you?" a tall curly-haired waiter said as he set a basket of breadsticks and a saucer of rosemary oil on their table.

"What are the specials tonight?" Remus asked, averting his eyes from Hermione, much to her temporary relief.

"I'm glad you asked, sir." The waiter smiled. "Tonight we're featuring a slow roasted herbed pork loin with pancetta, peaches, fennel & warm spinach salad. We also have grilled sea scallops with crab ravioli, wild mushroom broth, and truffle oil. And of course, for dessert, our signature lemon lime cake served with prickly pear ginger sorbet."

"That sounds wonderful," Remus said with a glance at Hermione. "I think I'll go with the pork."

"Good choice," replied the waiter. "And for you, miss?"

Hermione had been studying the menu.

"I think I'll try the soft shell crabs with braised spinach, and tomato basil vinaigrette."

"Another great selection from our kitchen," the waiter said as he scribbled on his notepad. He left, after a tap of his wand filled their empty glasses with ice water.

A few blossoms fluttered to the center of the table from the tree above. The rustling of the wind had shaken them loose and spread their scent around the square.

Remus moved to refill their wine glasses.

"Hermione." He took her hand in his. It was warm on her cold fingertips. A little too warm.

"Look through the branches and tell me what you see," he said.

Hermione frowned but moved to comply, shifting slightly to the left to look for whatever Lupin was drawing her attention to. The tree no longer obscured her view of the black surface of the lake, but that was all… unless… the _moon_!

There was no mistaking it was full— buttery pale and round.

Hermione pulled her hand from his in shock. She searched his eyes for some answer to the impossible. And fear danced across her features when she expected to see the grey of his eyes morph once again to the emotionless pits of the werewolf.

But he only smiled.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, pulling her reluctant hand back into his palm.

She shook her head wordlessly and gulped dryly.

_I will wake up any minute, I know it._

"I'm cured," he whispered, leaning closer.

"W…What?" she choked out.

"Hermione, I've been cured… I'm no longer--" He looked around in caution. "What I was."

"How!" She looked him up and down, back and forth… searching for some hint that this was all still a dream. The twisting iron of the table seemed to sway… was she waking up?

"A potion," he said, trying his best to calm her. "I know. It's still somewhat unbelievable for me. Yet, Severus is a genius with these sorts of things and--"

"You mean Professor Snape's… cured this!"

"Hush!" He smiled. "Yes, he has."

"That's amazing," she whispered softly.

"Yes it is, and I've been so--" he started.

"That's so amazing, Remus! He _is_ a genius!" She squealed, moving closer to Lupin's face so that she wouldn't draw too much attention. "I always knew the man was gifted… but this will change the world!" She pulled a breadstick from the basket and ripped a bite off with her teeth, chewing excitedly.

Remus was at a loss for words at the moment. Thinking deeply, he studied her facial expression as though seeking some hidden clue.

The waiter returned with two platters of steaming food and what he explained to be complimentary strawberry sangria.

Hermione looked at it with caution. "I really shouldn't drink this much, Remus. I have such a ridiculously low alcohol tolerance."

"I think you'll be alright, this stuff is light--"

"Oh how did he do it? Did he say? What did he call the potion?" Hermione interrupted immediately. She leaned a little forward in her seat, wine buzz creeping its way into her head.

"Whoa, Hermione." He chuckled. "Maybe this is a little much…"

"Severus must be one of the brightest wizards in the world!" She lifted a forkful of spinach to her lips, savoring its juicy taste. "Do you agree! I hope you told him!"

Remus cleared his throat after unintentionally swallowing his first bite.

"_Severus_?" he asked, laughing. "You mean Professor Snape, right?" He coughed, washing the food in his throat down with a swig of the fruity sangria.

She giggled. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" he asked with raised eyebrows. He dropped his fork in mock surprise. "You hate him," he added with a laugh.

"I don't," she said, completely serious as she furrowed her brow.

"No?"

Now he was surprised.

"No," she answered simply, slicing a crab in half with an overly aggressive slash of her knife.

"Why?" he blurted, before realizing how stupid it sounded.

She swirled the last of her wine in its glass. "There are so many reasons," she added with a sigh, taking a sip. "So many reasons… you wouldn't understand." She drained the glass.

"He is… most unpleasant towards you," Remus raised his head to meet her eyes. "That must bother you."

"It does," she said abruptly, forking two more bites of crab into her mouth.

"Then why--"

She looked up. "Honestly, Professor Lupin, he looked after you and cured you of a curse you never thought would ease. If I were you, I'd be kissing his feet."

Remus' eyes widened.

"I'll have you know, Hermione, that I thanked him profusely."

"And--"

"He wanted nothing of it." He poured himself another glass of wine. "Please, it's Remus, Hermione… my first name." He was a little put off. "Can we change the subject?"

"I want to know more about this potion," she said with passionate interest. "Does it have a name?"

"I don't know."

"You don't--"

"Merlin, Hermione! I'm not the Potions Master here. Ask _him_ if you want to know!"

Hermione suddenly realized how rude she had been.

"Remus--"

"Did we come here to talk about Snape?" he asked bewildered.

"No, professor. I'm sorry."

"Remus!"

"Remus," she corrected herself with a wince.

A few more minutes passed in silence. Both had come to silent understanding; Lupin, allowing his mind to slowly adjust to the reality of the good old "too good to be true". The waiter moved to clear their plates and brought a dessert menu. Many of the surrounding parties had gone, leaving them alone.

"I'd like to pass on dessert if you don't mind," Hermione said softly to her empty plate. "I'm stuffed."

"I was thinking the same," Lupin said with a smirk.

Ten minutes later they took the path back towards the school. Apparation would have been an option but there was a tension of unfinished business. They both wondered who would break the growing awkward silence. And although they were aware of each other's presence, neither wanted to ruin the soothing sound of crickets and the safety of muteness.

Remus cleared his throat at the front entrance of the school. The quiet was finally disturbed.

"I was going to ask you to the ball," he said, looking sadly at the ground.

"And I'll still go with you. I just--"

"Hermione, I understand. Don't worry, there is no need to explain." He reached forward and took her hand in his own. This time it was not unpleasantly warm… just right.

Hermione sighed.

"I want to be your date to the ball, Remus. But I can't be much more than that." She felt a prickle of tears and her head was spinning. She was being honest, but why had it been so damn hard? "I'm sorry," she whispered looking away, trying to hide her glistening eyelids.

Remus couldn't help but fold her into his arms. Holding her close to him hurt almost as much as when he learned of his werewolf bite. But he cared too much for her to let her be upset.

Her hair smelled like cherry blossoms and sangria. It tickled his nose and caused his heart to leap out of his chest. "I only want you to be happy," he said softly in her ear, his lips brushing ever so slightly by her cheek. Painfully… painfully sweet.

"We never would have worked, Remus, you know that."

He did. But knowledge did nothing for him at present.

"Yes, I know." He smiled, swallowing a lump that was now forming in his throat. "But a man can only hope."

Hermione smiled as he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, sliding his hand beneath her chin, he lifted it.

"You are an amazing woman, Hermione Granger. Don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

She laughed and tried to look away but he nudged her face back to him.

"I mean that," he said. "And I know it… Because I love you."

Hermione would have convinced herself later that he didn't mean it. But now that he had said it, the sky came crashing down. She hated to see him in pain, but what was more was that she wished she would never have to feel this way. Considering who she loved now, it seemed impossible to avoid.

_Please… don't let it end like this for me._

"My only wish is that your heart, whatever path it desires to take, will find its destination to be true…"

_My heart doesn't know what it's getting itself into._

He blinked slowly, studying her face for his memory. "Because, Hermione. You deserve to be loved by who you truly love. Your heart deserves the world."

"And you will always have a place there, Remus." She took his hand and placed it over her chest. "As one of my greatest friends, you'll always be _right there_."

They fell again to embrace, this time holding as tight as possible… each for their own peace. 


	13. Masquerade for Me

Hermione had left Madam Malkins in a rare state of joy the day before. The gown she had chosen was, by all accounts, perfection. Charcoal-like silk fabric covered in a delicately embroidered celestial pattern hung from thin white straps over her shoulders. It gathered in an empire waist, which bound her chest in a most flattering fashion. Gracefully, the gown continued to flow outward towards black stiletto heels. In her hand, she would carry a scepter mask that matched the gown's detail. When she fixed this small piece of art against her eyes, the ambience of her figure was irresistible. It had taken a considerable amount of time, but she had charmed her hair straight so that it fell to mid-back. The tri-tonal beauty of her predominantly caramel locks was even more apparent now that she stood so sleek and polished. As for makeup, she gave her eyes a smoky appearance with charcoal liner, and glossed her lips, which made her already stunning features exponentially intensify.

"Must you torment me with such beauty?" Remus whispered in question.

Hermione snorted, acting out of character for the moment.

"It's just a little something I picked up in Hogsmeade, Remus. It's not like I'm modeling for _Miss Enchanted England_ or anything…" She smiled again. "You look quite stunning yourself."

Lupin studied himself carefully in the reflection of the near window. His tattered black cape, the black leather pants, worn boots, and loose gray pirate shirt gave him a stealthy appeal, and he had already caused much swooning upon his entrance to the hall.

"What, this bit of thrown together rubbish?" he questioned playfully, lifting his black eye patch to fix Hermione with a goofy look.

"Please, you're a sexy rogue and you know it," she replied with a wicked laugh.

_I'm standing here expecting absolutely anything… in complete, dark, nothingness._

"He's outdone himself this time," Remus whispered. "The suspense is killing me."

Hermione felt her hand involuntarily slip into Professor Lupin's.

_Dumbledore's crazy. He's just crazy making us stand here in the dark like this, not knowing where we are or who's around._

"I was always a little afraid of the dark," Hermione said as she squeezed Remus' hand tighter.

"I can see that." He chuckled. "Happy Halloween."

The lights rose unexpectedly, drenching the remodeled Great Hall in an eerie half-light.

The students gasped as they tried to take in the enormous sights surrounding them. And it wasn't long at all before they realized how much work Dumbledore had actually done to the place.

It was astonishing.

The ceiling expanded and magnified to a glorious thirty feet above their heads, swirling with silver and gold, furbished with the twisting leaves of mysterious green trees rising from the marble floor. The shape of the room was no longer angular, but round and twice as wide. Tables and chairs lined half of the wall, while buffet tables covered in sweets stood at the opposite side.

An enormous chandelier cast a delicate metallic glow on the crowd, causing brighter areas of the space to shimmer in its light, and the panels of the domed ceiling were replaced with swirling orange clouds. Hundreds of tiny jack-o-lanterns floated in the air above.

Possibly the most striking adornments were the four twenty-foot paintings that stood at the quarters of the circle. The marble floor of the hall was branded with a giant shimmering compass, each golden needle pointing and stretching its way towards one of the paintings.

At first glance, Hermione did not notice the chilling figures within the frames, but it was not long before she was mesmerized by their gruesome details.

The first, to the north, was what appeared to be a creamy canvas awash with blood. A forest canopy of leaves composed of human flesh dripped maroon and brown into a tangle of twigs. The deadly trees dipped and twisted towards a clearing of cracked dry earth. Ravines in the rigid soil oozed more of the blood that rained from the cranberry sky above. A lion-man sat huddled to the ground, arms folded to cover his naked form. His body appeared completely normal, save for the paws and distorted face. His hair was wild and rumpled about his head in a mane. His mouth hung slack-jawed, revealing teeth discolored from the drooling bloody saliva running between them. His nose was triangular, feline-like and flat, and his eyes, still gleaming humanly azure, conveyed a sadness that was otherworldly… as though he had seen the greatest pain of all. Hermione had to pull her gaze from his image, fearing that she might somehow be possessed to feel the same. She shivered.

To the south, however, a woman stood in a normal forest glade. She was nude, but covered by a giant serpent that twined itself around her shoulders hips and chest. Her face was beautiful, except for her eyes. The eyes that should have been were erased completely and replacing them were dark holes… voids of nothingness. The vacancy of the image was the most disturbing thing Hermione had laid eyes on yet. It was strange how unsettling a person without eyes could actually be. It had always been said they are the windows to the soul, but when realizing just how much…

"I wonder where Albus came up with these horrid excuses for art," Remus quipped, squinting and dramatically averting his eyes. "Oh, they're all over the place!"

Sure enough he had turned directly east, to face head-on another piece - this time even more disturbing and unusual.

"Definitely surrealism," Hermione mused aloud to herself.

To the west, a large raven sat on the mast of a ship surrounded by violent sea. Black tar appeared to drip from its feathers and beak. Its eyes were a bright sapphire and it steamed from the tar as though it was melting.

To the east, a yellow sea of constellations floated on a gloomy, sulfur horizon. A beastly clown stood at the center of the supernal mass. He wrenched his hands around the throat of a baby badger, as though proud of choking the life from it. His eyes slanted maliciously and his teeth extended like razors towards the chest of his gold and onyx harlequin patterned unitard. His knees bent inwards like some sort of creature and from each of his twenty jagged toes sprouted a mushroom. And, Hermione noted astutely, a message was barely visible within the shadow of his painted form.

"Look at this, Remus," Hermione said as she guided him to the small inscription near the base of the frame. "Let's have a closer look!"

"Well that doesn't make any sense," Remus said as he moved for a closer inspection.  
"_Htaed Litnu Layol_… that's not any language I'm aware of."

"_Loyal Until Death_," Hermione said as if she'd figured it out ages ago. "Quite clever really."

"Of course!… backwards. Everything's backwards these days. Our founders must have been ridiculously intrigued by the concept. I see these inverted messages everywhere."

"Ah yes, Remus. Underestimating the secrets of Hogwarts again, I presume?" Dumbledore had moved his way through the costumed crowd to greet them. "Certainly, there would be no forwards without a backwards? As there is no darkness without light, no loss without love… and so on."

"Well put," Remus replied.

Dumbledore had taken some time with his outfit as well.

Long mulberry fabric rippled and flowed like a river down his back. His long hair and beard were littered with tiny braids and autumn leaves twined in a wreath around his head. The blue of his eyes was quite dazzling within the wreath of fall branches. Hermione could not believe how magical he looked. Dumbledore always looked innately powerful, but now he was at the far end of the spectrum… what Muggles always imagined wizards to be.

"You look lovely, my dear," he told Hermione sweetly. "That dress is exquisite, I must say."

"Why thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore. Your choice of attire is nothing short of sensational," she said happily as she gestured towards his costume.

Dumbledore smiled a beaming broad smile. His eyes glittering like lights under the enchanted chandelier.

Remus moved to stand between them.

"I don't see Severus anywhere, Albus," he said with mock disappointment. "I didn't come here dressed as a pirate so he could remain in his room all night." He laughed.

Hermione's insides twisted deliciously with the mention of her Potions Professor. It was something so uncontrollable for her that it was necessary to shield her face behind her mask in order for her burning cheeks to remain unnoticed.

"No, Remus, he'll be here."

Hermione's heart leapt in her chest. She could not conceal a noisy intake of air.

_He's coming?_

"I can't imagine what you had to do to convince him," Remus said through another hearty laugh. "I don't need the details."

"I can promise his attendance, Remus," Dumbledore said with a wink.

Startlingly, music poured forth from thin air. The hall was filled with a pulsing beat that Hermione recognized immediately. "I can't believe they're playing this song!" she exclaimed as she tugged Lupin onto the dance floor.

From the side of his mouth, Ron mumbled, "I can't believe she can even show her face here after last week," quietly to Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Seamus who stood near him in the corner. "Let alone make such a spectacle of herself."

_On candystripe legs spiderman comes_

Softly through the shadow of the evening sun

Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead

Looking for the victim shivering in bed

Searching out fear in the gathering gloom

And suddenly! A movement in the corner of the room!

And there is nothing I can do when I realize with fright

The spiderman is having me for dinner tonight…

Lavender and Parvati arrived at the boys' sides shortly. Parvati's crimson feather dress tickled Neville's nose enough for him to sneeze audibly. The scarlet glitter around her eyes was nearly blinding in the chandelier's light.

Lavender had opted instead for a white ensemble, her hair twined into hundreds of tiny braids that curled around a tuft of ostrich feathers at the top of her head. Her eyes were covered in iridescent snowy glitter, almost as gaudy as Parvati's.

"Well her choice of gown is rather drab if you ask me," Parvati added to her date's rude remark. "Ron, it's not like you'll have to go anywhere near her in a ballroom this big anyway."

Lavender latched herself quickly to Harry's suited arm, pulling him towards the dance floor.

_Quietly he laughs and shaking his head_

Creeps closer now, closer to the foot of the bed

And softer than shadow and quicker than flies

His arms are all around me and his tongue in my eyes

"Be still be calm be quiet now my precious boy

Don't struggle like that or I will only love you more

For it's much too late to get away or turn on the light

The spider man is having you for dinner tonight"

"I like this song," Neville found himself saying out loud.

Seamus and Ginny, with a sidelong glance, decided to dance as well, leaving him alone with his crutches.

"Do you really?" a low voice asked from behind him.

Neville whirled around so quickly that his crutches fell with a clatter to the marble floor. The shade of the surroundings caused him to search the shadows for a minute before finding the source of the words.

"Oh... it's you," he said in a murmur.

"Yes, me," the voice added. "Longbottom listens to th-"

"Well I don't … really listen to them. I just like this song."

"I see."

"Yes."

"I don't believe we've met... I'm Yeva."

"Oh, I'm Neville." He took a deep breath. "Please... don't call me Longbottom. It... it reminds me too much of Snape."

Yeva threw her head back and laughed theatrically at the tired comparison.

"What? ... I mean, why so funny?"

Carefully tapping the corners of her eyes with her pinkie finger so as not to smear her makeup, Yeva composed herself. "Nothing, really," she said unconvincingly.

Neville puckered his brow and frowned in confusion.

"Professor Snape... he is not you favorite teacher then?"

It was Neville's turn to laugh. And then he nearly turned green.

"Snape is... bad... just bad news." He was desperate to change the subject. "You've got a good costume going, though."

Yeva had worn a short forest green dress that hung in choppy layers to her mid-thighs. Matching shiny fairy wings adorned her shoulders and her legs were clad in black fishnet tights. Though her feet were in a strappy pair of emerald pumps, the added five inches only brought her to just above Neville's head when he was sitting.

"Thanks," she said. "How did you hurt yourself?"

"I fell down the stairs."

"Why on earth would you heal the horrid Muggle way?" She motioned towards the crutches with a wave of her arms.

"Because, I'm allergic to Skele-Gro," he replied with a defeated sigh.

"Oh."

A little further down the hall, a trio of dark figures approached unnoticed.

"I'm awfully sorry to hear that," she said.

"Oh believe me, it's alright. I can't dance worth a spinach flavored Bertie Bott's anyway... and I probably wouldn't have had a date to go with in the first place. This is just an easy excuse." He laughed half-heartedly. "I mean if it wasn't for the pain, I would have considered falling down the stairs on purpose."

Yeva looked livid.

"What!" she nearly shrieked. "Why would you say something awful like that?"

"Because it's true..." He looked up from the floor and for the first time, actually meeting her eyes, changed his self-pity quickly into suspicion. "I don't understand. Why are you being so nice to me? If this is some sort of Slytherin prank, believe me, I do know how to use my wand."

"No!" Yeva said suddenly. "No, I promise. I'm not so much like the rest of the lot over there. I don't like to watch people suffer. You shouldn't get so down on yourself. I don't have a date either."

Neville's jaw dropped.

"That's ridiculous. Why would someone like you have come here alone?" he asked in surprise. "I mean... there's Nott, and Blaise... and Malfoy-"

"Draco did ask me and I turned him down," she said.

"You what?" He was in shock. Slowly, carefully, he uttered, "And you lived to tell?"

"He was upset, but as much as he wants to believe it, he doesn't own this school... or anyone inside it." She looked very angry then, involuntarily running her finger along the wire latching her wings to her gown.

Neville nodded and looked at the floor. The wooden monster mask he had painted was lying on the far corner of the table. It was kind of cute, the way he'd made it himself.

He had allowed his curly brown hair to grow a little over the past year and it made his eyes stand out strangely. It was handsome and soft; in a way that only Neville could be - kind of awkward, but definitely charming.

Yeva pulled out the chair nearest to him and sat.

"You know, Neville."

He raised his eyes in a silent question; stunned she had even stayed to talk.

"If your leg wasn't broken, I would dance with you."

Neville's mouth opened again in surprise and color came into his cheeks. "I... I'm not really... I mean... I can't dance," he said.

Yeva put her hand on his arm.

"No need to be shy, love. I can't dance either."

Without warning, a firecracker exploded on their tabletop, causing Neville to jump to his feet without thinking and shriek, then crumple into a sitting position clutching his leg in pain.

Deep droning laughter filled the space and Neville's pain was replaced with a chill.

"Well, well, well... if Parajanov isn't getting cozy with Longbottom..."

Draco Malfoy's face was half covered with a sunken white mask, deadly in quality and resembling very closely that of the Death Eaters. His robes looked like they had cost a family fortune, which they probably had. And he carried his father's walking stick in his left hand. Its serpent head glittered a little in the dimmer light. Yeva understood that Neville did not see the irony in Draco using the viciously gaudy cane as a costume when his father used it every day, but at the sight he presented, she dare not laugh.

Crabbe and Goyle, both wearing heavy black hooded robes, stood at either side of him. Their faces were not visible, but dumb laughter did not allow Yeva and Neville to forget their presence.

"Yeva darling, you do realize you're socializing with the biggest idiot in all of Hogwarts? What's next? Chatting up Hagrid?"

"It's so amusing that you are the one attempting to label the idiots in this situation, Draco. Leave us alone." Yeva's dark eyes were again alight with an angry Potions Master gleam. "Leave, I'm warning you."

"Ooo, Yeva," he cooed. "I love how sassy you get when you're angry."

"Leave!"

She rose from her chair, fists clenched, teeth bared.

"No," he said roughly, before grabbing and forcing her into a crushing kiss.

Snape leaned against the doorframe rigidly, his arms crossed against his chest. The lights had dimmed considerably and the swirling ceiling clouds had a rippling effect on the light of the room. As if someone had lifted a prism to a laser, colors moved in waves around the French doors he stood by.

Possibly the most surprising feature of his clothing was that he did not wear black, but a deep midnight blue. Silver detailed serpents snaked their way down the trail of buttons on his chest and his cape billowed enough to expose a silver satin lining. Half his face was concealed with leather, form fitting the angles of his cheeks and nose and also a deep indigo. He might have even been mistaken for a darker version of the Phantom of the Opera... yet the wing of raven hair that always framed his face gave his presence a wilder even more dangerous appeal than the Phantom - who's character was becoming quite cliché in the surroundings. Most of the seventh-year boys had opted for the white half-mask as well.

Hermione was getting sick of looking at all the phantoms in the room. She was relieved to see that the object of her passion had been more original. She could hardly control herself, really. The fact that he had shown up had been a shock in itself. She wanted more than anything to approach him, somehow apologize, but she knew that after the horrible scene in The Three Broomsticks, it was probably a fatal choice.

"I see that Minerva has finally arrived," Remus said to a distracted Hermione, her eyes fixed on her dark prize across the hall. "Quite impressive."

Professor McGonagall had entered the hall with celebrity grandeur. The train of her glorious scarlet robes was so long that Hagrid had to hold them for her so that she would not snag them on an inattentive party member. She was Queen Elizabeth I, dripping in jewels and golden accessories. Her hair was pinned and plaited in a stunning updo, her eyes painted with an Aztec gold. She looked absolutely brilliant, and Hermione would have loved it had she not been so enthralled by the Head of Slytherin, inconspicuously sliding to the shadows by the bar.

"Hermione?" Remus asked in question, looking over his shoulder to make sure she was still standing with him. "Hermione, are you all right?"

"W...what?" Hermione whirled to face him, her eyes glazed in afterglow.

"You've gone all dreamy on me," Remus said, amused.

Hermione smiled, her eyes still filled with gentle urgency.

"Oh look, Hermione! Ron and Harry… over here, boys!" Remus called.

"Oh, Remus… no!" Hermione squealed. She tugged him onto a more shaded area of the floor. "Not now."

Lupin looked absolutely stunned. "It's Harry and Ron, Hermione. You know… your friends?"

"Well, at the moment, they're not," she said severely. "And I'd rather not talk about it."

Just then, Ginny Weasley's sky blue chiffon dress caught Hermione's eye. Though piled on top of her head in a bundle of tight curls, the orange-red of her hair set off the color of the dress with a bang. 

Hermione knew that Ginny was probably a little unsettled after the scene she had put on in front of half the school and Professor Snape, but she did not expect…

"I'm not talking to you, Hermione."

Remus had placed a hand on his date's shoulder, silently wishing her well before moving towards the bar.

Hermione tentatively stepped towards her, a pensive look of concern on her face. "Ginny?" she inquired softly.

Ginny moved further away through the crowd, stepping around undulating hips and flying limbs, trying not to spill the punch she held in both hands.

"Please, Ginny, wait!" Hermione called. She had become much more urgent in her strides. Her best friend was getting away from her.

Finally Ginny reached the wall and moved to a rather lighted table by the buffet. She put the two glasses of punch down and sat next to Parvati and Lavender. The boys had gone off together somewhere and, judging by the looks on their faces, it seemed that Ginny had been in deep conversation with the girls before she had left to grab the punch.

Although she knew it might turn ugly, Hermione was not about to lose Ginny to some dumb mistake in Hogsmeade and a trail of rumors. She moved behind a column to the right of their table, waited, and listened.

"…Well no. That's not all I've heard," Lavender's squeaky voice whispered to the two girls in front of her. "I heard she painted a picture of _him_… and it's in her room!"

"No way, Lav," Parvati said in a low voice before giggling hysterically.

"Way, Parvati, just ask your date." Lavendar answered in a slightly quieter tone. "I just can't help but think, poor Professor Lupin. Look, he's not even dancing." She pointed towards the far end of the buffet - he was standing near the white chocolate fondue fountain and a forty-four inch pumpkin pie that Hagrid was slicing with a hand saw. "And she has the nerve to go to the ball with him when she'd like nothing more than to spend the night with grease-ball over there."

Hermione was livid but couldn't help following Lavender's finger towards the other set of French doors. In his patrolling, Snape had been lurking at the exits, waiting to catch students attempting to escape to the rose garden.

"Ew, Lavender, No," Ginny said with disgust. "Hermione's not like that."

_That a girl, Gin. Stay faithful…_

"But if what you say is true, I've definitely changed my mind about her friendship qualities. We promised each other no lies. No secrets… Hell, that was forever ago. And now she's so distant I can't even call her a friend anymore without feeling weird about it."

_Oh, Gin, no. Don't feel like that… I'm so sorry… I… I don't know what… to say._

"She's not a real friend if she makes you feel like that," Parvati said in a serious tone. "We're here for you, though."

"I think we should probably tell her everything, Parvati," Lavender whispered sadly, dramatically sighing at the conclusion of her sentence.

"What do you mean, everything?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"Hermione's made new friends now, Ginny," Parvati said sadly. "Just the other day when Lav and I were walking past the bookshop on our way back to the school, we saw Hermione standing in the window."

"Yes," Ginny said with a short laugh. "Hermione in a bookshop… did you notice the sky was blue while you were at it?"

"Do you know who she was with?" Lavender questioned with a raise of her penciled eyebrow.

"I'm not sure -"

"She was with that Parajanov girl, Ginny. That shifty Slytherin," Parvati replied, ready to go off on a jealous tangent. "Though her skin tone is not as even as mine… and judging from her accent…"

"I know who she is!" Ginny replied with impatient disgust. "Are you sure you saw them there? Are you sure they were actually together… talking?"

"They weren't just talking. They were laughing, Ginny." Lavender looked around the room before pretending she had a new thought. "Say, wasn't that the day she threw that tantrum in the Three Broomsticks? We didn't see it but we definitely heard about it."

"It was that day… yes!" Ginny was nearly hysterical. How could the Hermione she'd come to know have gone off after such an incident and laughed?... With a Slytherin of all people?"

Hermione had finally had enough. She was fuming so much that the sudden jolt of jumping quickly from behind the column caused a muffled cry to erupt from her lips. She immediately started to yell.

"I do not tolerate being talked about so detestably by a bunch of fellow housemates! As Head Girl I have the right to take points from anyone who breaks the rules. And, believe me, I don't care as much about points as the lot of you do. I won't hesitate to put a dent in Gryffindor's standing!" Hermione was breathing so heavily she almost winded herself. Her posture resembled her past tirade.

"Don't worry, Hermione. We know you don't care about house points," Ron said in a low voice behind her. "We do know that you care about Slytherins though, and of course their Head of House."

"In Gryffindor we have a word for people like you," Seamus said in a tone similar to Ron's. He had stepped out of the shadows and brought his leprechaun hat down from his head to the table, as if he somehow believed this could get ugly.

"Yes, Seamus?" Hermione said with wide willing eyes, her tone berating.

"You're a traitor, you great bitch." Seamus said with his hearty brogue. "A filthy traitor."

Hermione was speechless for a second, stunned at the sudden change in power. This was Seamus, the same Seamus that taught her how to whistle in first year, that leant her his wool sweater when she was soaked at the frigid second task of the Triwizard Tournament.

"You're no friend to me, Hermione, though I _am_ curious as to what you could possibly have to say for yourself!"

Harry Potter had entered the circle of chaos. His eyes were cast to the floor, but Hermione was sure they would have been as melancholy as the painting to the north of the hall. She almost lost it right there, wanting more than anything to reach out and pull him close to her… reminiscent of the night they had arrived. She'd give anything to rewind the past month and return to his embrace under the stars. His friendship was supposed to be as solid as the world itself. He was never supposed to leave her.

"Harry, I," she started. Looking around, she could see most of the Gryffindors crowding nearer. They loomed and swayed in garish costumes. And for the first time that night, Hermione felt out of place. She felt like she was trapped in another one of those gruesome pictures on the wall. She wanted to let go… to wake up. It was a dream, surely. This was her house. This was Gryffindor.

"Harry-"

"Why?" The word caught on his breath and came out too emotional.

Beyond Ginny, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati, Ron was lurking at the rear. His face was plastered with the expression he reserved only for Malfoy. 

Beyond Ron, the crowd continued to sway under the spell of a dizzying techno beat. She was cornered and no one could save her.

"Why?" Harry repeated, a pleading strength coming into his voice. "I don't understand." He finally met her eyes. "I honestly tried to, Hermione. But the more I did, the more upset I got."

He moved closer, until their hands nearly met, it seemed their distance repelled them apart like magnets.

"The more I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, the more I recall your promise." He made an effort to keep his eyes locked on her. "You promised me, Hermione. We were a team, you said."

_"I just, Mione, I wish people wouldn't rely on me as their only hero. I'm only one person…"_

After a long silence, Hermione wrapped her arms around him from behind. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He was the closest to a brother she would ever get. He was her best friend, not like Ron, he was Ron. But this was Harry. And Harry was one of the best things that ever happened to her. "Harry, you are one very special person. And whether you know it or not you mean the world to me. I love you, I want you to remember that… always." She paused, thinking, "You'll beat that big death-eating bastard and I know it. We all know it. We have the utmost faith in you."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She felt that if she tried to hug him she would be tackled in her attempt by the grim spectators surrounding her. There was too much regret involved and it lumped into a great grief stone in her chest.

_This is what it feels like on the other side, to feel the wrath of Gryffindors._

"You promised me, Hermione." He repeated as he winced from the sadness of the words. "You promised to stick by me, to keep my secrets safe… and you've gone and left me with Ron. Running around with Slytherins is a known danger. You're smarter than that."

"Harry-"

"You have every right to disagree with me, but I will continue to believe that the closer you are to Malfoy and his lot, the closer you are to the enemy. I have my guard up." He returned to Lavender's side. "You mark my words, there is something not quite right about that Yeva girl."

"That's not fair, Harry," Hermione replied with an intake of breath. "You don't even know her."

"And I suppose _you_ do," Ginny piped up from her place beside Seamus. Her eyes grew pinker by the second as she held back tears of rage.

"It's not like I planned to run into her in the bookshop, Gin," Hermione said.

"She's a Slytherin, Hermione. When has _any_ Slytherin been anything other than trouble?"

"Yeva is kind, Ginny. She's kind and down-to-earth… nothing like Malfoy."

"Do you honestly believe that she has nothing to hide?" Ginny asked. "Do you honestly believe that she's not using you?"

"Yes."

"Then you're pathetic," Seamus said with disgust. His lips puckered if he were going to spit, but thought better of it.

Hermione looked insulted. "So that's it then? You're all going to push me away because I made a friend from another house?"

"You're fraternizing with the enemy!" Ron shouted audibly from the back of the group.

"Oh yes," Hermione said angrily. "I've heard that one before. I understand how jealous you get in these situations, but as a seventh-year you should really learn to control yourself! We're not fourteen anymore."

"Save it, Hermione." Ron laughed. "Just go find Snape and be done with it."

Parvati and Lavender instantly burst into fits of giggles. Ginny shook her head in disbelief and Seamus rested his hand on the shoulder of a very disappointed Harry.

"You may think what you want," Hermione said with a lifted chin. "I will make my own decisions."

With that she lifted her skirts and pushed her way through the students that had gathered to hear the commotion. She had just reached the punch bowl when Remus Lupin crossed her path once more.

Leaning against the table he spoke. "I'll say something to them if you want." A light brushing of his fingertips at Hermione's temple was not welcomed. 

Hermione dodged him roughly and moved to lift the silver ladel that would fill her glass with the pineapple concoction in the punchbowl.

"No, don't," she said. "In fact, why don't you join them? After all, you are such a loyal Gryffindor. You wouldn't want to be… fraternizing with the enemy, would you?" She fixed him with a death glare. "Lavender fancies you more than I do anyway. You should ask her to dance and leave me alone."

"Hermione!" he cried in surprise. "That's quite a change of heart. I thought -"

"Well what did you expect, Remus?" She asked accusingly, dropping the ladle into the bowl with a splash. "You really showed your support for me over there. If I didn't know any better I would have to think you're on their side."

"Hermione, I'm a teacher!" His tone was sincere but his face was incredulous.

"Oh, well noted!" she shouted. A few heads turned in their direction. "Thank you so much for proving my point!"

"I can't abuse authority, Hermione," he said gently. "There _are_ professors that do." He nodded his head towards Snape, who was dangerously near enough to hear their conversation, the bits of silver in his suit capturing the minimal light. "I'm not one of them."

Hermione knew she was biased on Snape's part. But she had been outnumbered, and cornered. If Lupin had even stood silently by her during the argument it would have been enough to get a point across. That sort of thing was hardly considered "abusing authority".

"You know, you may be correct," she replied after a small pause. And then with a sharp look at Remus' unsuspecting face, she said, "Professor Snape may favor his students unfairly… but he's a whole hell of a lot _smarter_ than you."

And then she slipped away, punch in hand, to a table completely shaded from the chandelier. She sat alone and pondered the night's events while Remus was left to toy with the idea of possible competition with a childhood enemy…

Minerva McGonagall moved to take her seat next to Dumbledore at the High Table. Her arms were folded across her heaving chest as she tried to catch her breath. She had been dancing for a near half hour straight, the upbeat tempo of the music being exactly what she needed to feel rejuvenated and young again. She sighed.

"Oh, Albus," she said with a smile. "I do enjoy a good dance, don't you?"

The headmaster was at an equal state of exhaustion. He conjured a pitcher of ice water and proceeded to pour two glasses of it.

"All this dancing reminds me of the good times," he replied with a chuckle. "Of course, there was never such a demand for swaying hips in the old days. I think I might have dislodged something."

McGonagall laughed, a good throaty laugh, so that her whole face brightened even more in the festive surroundings. She looked years younger in this spectacular setting and Dumbledore was thrust deeply into past memories of the time they had shared together.

_"This snow is unrelenting, Albus. Do you think Hagrid will make it? It's awfully cold."_

Minerva was sitting with her back to him, her hair falling in thick brown curls down her back, a deep crimson velvet dress hugged her womanly curves snugly as she propped her head on folded arms and stared at the winter wonderland beyond the bay windowpane.

Distant violins played a soft melody, an adapted version of "Greensleeves", and it gave the atmosphere of the circular office a warmth that was unparalleled. Sprigs of pine and red ribbon cascaded from the beams of the many windows and the French doors that topped the spiral staircases were adorned with holly and mistletoe.

Dumbledore glanced fondly above the mantle to the portrait of a noble looking Armando Dippet. The former headmaster had passed on leaving many wonderful memories. Dumbledore could not thank him enough for his position. He was adjusting to this beautiful office quite nicely. Hogwarts was his true home now.

"Yes, Minerva, dear," he replied softly, joining her immediately at the window seat. "I am certain that Hagrid has chosen the most beautiful trees in the forest for the Yule Ball." He wrapped his arms around her and sighed. "Don't worry, he's sturdy enough to change the course of the wind. I am sure he's quite fine out there."

Minerva sighed and leaned into his chest, her hair rippling in thick waves, mingling with the slightly graying auburn of his beard. The soft lines on his face gave him a joyous appearance that was irresistible to her.

It was in that moment that he had chosen to tell her that he loved her…

Christmas came, the most beautiful Hogwarts had seen in years. Peaceful and merry, the students that had stayed for the holidays were entertained on Christmas Eve with stories from the staff that had remained. Many a laugh was shared, and many a friend was made.

Hagrid did return with a small bundle of handsome pines, his much tamer beard littered with icicles and the nose of his round face red as a button. His trees became a beloved tradition of the Hogwarts Holiday season.

"Do you think," Dumbledore started. The music of the hall grew softer and more mellow… a slow song. Minerva turned to him with smile so vivid on her usually stern face. "Minerva, do you think you could spare me one more dance, for old time's sake?"

She smiled.

"Of course," she said as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Professor?" Hermione whispered, sliding so that most of her gestures would not be visible to the Weasley crew across the hall.

Snape slowly ripped his eyes away from the bustling crowd that cleared the dance floor. His dark irises met hers ever so briefly before glancing again to the buffet.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked, more to the table than to her.

Hermione could feel the hall swaying as her face went hot and cold, her fingernails raked against her palms and her fear was beginning to take over… still… She slid silently against the buffet, closer to him, until her hips nearly touched his.

He did not move, though she watched the sinews of his fingers tense. The profile of his face tilted towards his removed mask on the tabletop. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow and she was so close she could smell him.

His scent was impossible to describe. From this far away he smelled like a thunderstorm - like rain smells when it soaks dry earth and decomposing leaves, the trees of some deep forest and cold air. But she was certain, that if she stepped closer still she would pick up notes of sandalwood, bourbon, and sweet aging leather, of cloves and vetiver, and the bitter bite of cigarette smoke. She remembered it well from when he breathed on her before. 

"Professor," she whispered again, barely moving her lips and hooding her eyes so that he would not sense her anxiousness.

"Professor, would you…" She trailed off just as Ron made eye contact with her from across the hall. He was now alerting their friends of her public conversation with Snape. She started to question her motives again, realizing in agony that she was acting more out of need than anything else. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had deserted her for the time being and that had pushed her enough to speak to him.

She cleared her throat and whispered softly to him, "Would you… join me… outside, please?" 

Inhaling sporadically through clenched teeth, she prepared for anything - a quick retort of laughter probably the most likely of reactions. Only, she should have known better than to expect something as simple. It was not her imagination that was causing him to act slightly different in her presence. In the past weeks since the incidents in his office - since the incidents in The Three Broomsticks - he had regarded her with such bizarre expressions, when he thought she wasn't looking, that she became quite confused as to his exact emotions. She thought she had him figured out, and now he was hiding something.

To her immediate surprise, he curled his fingers around the mask on the buffet table and placed it again over his eyes in one swift motion. Ever so quickly lifting his right hand, he snaked it around the small of her back and guided her towards the left set of French doors - the ones that lead to the antique rose garden.

Across the hall, Ron Weasley had dropped an iced glass of Butterbeer so that it shattered loudly on the floor.

"That's bloody fucking it, Harry," he said through clenched teeth, his eyes still focused on the recently closed double doors and his mind reeling over the couple that had just closed them.

"Ron-"

"Don't you Ron me, Harry!" he screamed. "Hermione's just left for the garden with… _Snape_!" He said the name with such force, he could have spat teeth.

"I'm sure there's some explanation-"

"Honestly, Harry, I doubt it," Ginny added in a low voice. "I've put my all into being on her side through this mess and she's even left _me_ in the dark. I'm her best friend."

"Thank you, little sister!" Ron said with satisfaction, throwing up his hands to illustrate the absurdity of the current situation.

"Well, I should say, _was_ my best friend." Ginny added this last bit with a wrinkle of her nose. "If she's running around with Snape instead of spending time with me, then that's the end of it."

"Fuck it all!" Ron wailed. With a huge wave of his arm he threw an accusatory finger towards the doors. "She betrayed us!"

Once outside, Snape abruptly removed his arm from Hermione's waist. He whirled her around roughly and pushed her to a nearby bench.

She watched in horror as he towered over her, his breath once more hot against her face.

"So, Granger, you want to make a fool of me again… is that it! In front of the entire school this time!" He bellowed so loudly that Hermione was positive the students at the far end of the hall could hear from inside, amidst the party.

His hands dug into her shoulders, his eyes sparked in anger, and the color of his face was unnaturally red.

"N..no!" she said through a sob. She couldn't help but let her tears fall freely now. She was scared as hell and he was hurting her. "N…n…never, Professor Snape, never! I'm so sorry… so… so sorry…" She cried then, her words petering off into a whisper, choked in her throat, dry and heavy, but never once did she cease her apologetic mantra. "The last thing I want… is to give you more to worry about. Because…" She trailed off again, at a true loss of words.

He removed his hands and stood, regarding her with a glare like that of a hawk. His eyes were fire once more, even in the chilly damp of the outside weather.

"You should be ashamed," he said in a flat tone. "You should be ashamed as Head Girl, making such a scene."

"I am," she said through another soft sob. She slowly looked up at him, met his eyes safely for the first time all night. After all, she had nothing to lose. He had removed his leather mask again and the angles of his face softened a little. There was no one here to judge their actions or their words, and no danger of a façade being discovered. They were just Severus and Hermione now. The thought caused even more tears to fall from her cheeks. He couldn't know now… not yet. She could not handle this many rejections in one night. She must be safe with her words… careful.

"I respect you very much, Professor. You… you need to know how horrible I feel. The things I said… were foolish and-"

"Foolish?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow. "Beyond foolish, Miss Granger."

"Yes," she said looking again to the damp concrete. "Beyond foolish."

The simple fact that he was standing over her in a deserted rose garden was enough to let her imagination take over. His tall form towered like some sort of dangerous beast, but the feeling she got from it was delicious, and distracting.

"We should put this behind us," she said quickly, liking the sound of "us" on her lips though worried he might sense something too intimate, a hint of what she truly felt.

He nodded sharply.

"Agreed," he said.

Another few seconds passed. He had not moved and she began to wonder what he was thinking. The fact that he was in indigo was quite unsettling and it was a treat for her wandering eyes. He definitely noticed her studying him, she thought, but it didn't stop her. Finally she had enough of looking up at him. She needed him… nearer. She would try to get him nearer.

"Please, sit." She motioned to the place on the bench.

To her astonishment he sat. In the difference of one second, Hermione was seated on a small wrought iron love seat with her professor. The warmth of his thigh was beginning to become noticeable through the silk of her gown. Tingles ran down her spine as he placed his hand on his knee, ever so close to hers… just an inch.

It would have been a wonderful moment if he had not been staring off into the night with an expression devoid of emotion. If she wanted this version of "empty" Snape, she would have used Neville's boggart.

Truly, she cautiously reflected, Neville's boggart could never compare with the man, even this version – the one who was sitting atop the tulle in the fold of her dress, but seemed a galaxy away. She could sense his sinewy body sitting in repose next to her, but she dare not shift her eyes to take him in.

He was a holy temple at that moment in time, and the angels of her eyes were not washed of their sins. She had no grounds to molest his mood with a stolen glance, let alone a word... but after staring glassily toward the weirdly symbolic dead foliage for what seemed like an eternity, protecting him from herself for as long as possible, she could not resist any longer.

"What are you thinking, Professor?" she asked in a whisper.

For a moment, she was terrified that he would not answer.

"That you've lost your mind, Miss Granger. That you're accompanying me on this bench, and not a single word escapes your ever running mouth." He folded his fingers together.

"That's because I am thinking as well, Professor," she said softly.

Silence loomed once more. Snape's lack of response only served to push Hermione into vocalizing her own.

"…About the stars, and the night… the silhouette of those pines in the distance, and how they soften the sky with their harsh outlines. It makes me want to paint them."

Snape reclined so that his back slid along the bench in such a way that was startling to Hermione. He narrowed his eyes at the sky and breathed an audible breath of the soft wind encircling them.

"Yes," he drawled in his deepest voice. "Your youth is poetic, Miss Granger" He sighed. "But when you are as old as I am, you'll see this sky as only a reminder of your age… even a waste of years."

"I intend to live my life, Professor. It's a shame you underestimate yours."

He raised an eyebrow and faced her, meeting her eyes with a buried question to which he feared the answer.

"Quite bold, Miss Granger," he whispered, his hand curling around the scepter mask on her lap. "Quite surprisingly bold." His eyes widened dangerously as he clicked the consonants in his words.

Hermione was unsure what he meant.

"You deserve to know how admirable you are, Professor… for what you've done for the war… and for the Order."

"I deserve nothing from you, Miss Granger." He averted his gaze sharply, ripping the mask from her lap staring at it. "Do not speak to me as though I'm some sort of friend to you."

"Some sort of friend, Professor?" she asked through a haze of rising emotions.

The heat of his body pressed against her ribs and thigh, the words that had escaped his mouth raked at her subconscious. In her mind the canvas had torn and left his image in tattered pieces.

"Some sort of friend?" The tears were at the brink. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. I was here to admire the stars, not to wish upon them… The stars! The beautiful wasted stars."

Hermione stood then, sliding her gown out from under his thigh as she did, unable to bear the fact that he was distancing himself more from her than he had been when they were baring their teeth in heated argument. That comment had killed the mood all right. He looked too alone and it saddened her with an eerie effect.

As she proceeded to return to the Great Hall, frustrated as ever, she was plagued by an even more rotten thought.

Could it be that Snape had no emotion left, save anger and sadness? Was the void emptiness? If so, she would have more luck falling for the wind. She was certain she had seen it, but now she wasn't anymore. The spark in his eyes could have been a trick in the light, and as far as she knew, it was. She had finally exchanged calm words with him and it destroyed all happy preconceptions. He was more than lonely… he was empty. As far as she understood, he lived because he breathed, but not because he wanted to live.


	14. For Once, Then Something

Others taught me with having knelt at well-curbs  
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing  
Deeper down in the well than where the water  
Gives me back in a shining surface picture  
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike  
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.  
_Once_, when trying with chin against a well-curb,  
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,  
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,  
Something more of the depths – and then I lost it.  
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.  
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple  
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,  
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?  
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.

Robert Frost

…………………………

Following the ball, the air surrounding the castle grew thick as the occupants of Hogwarts drifted into the darkest part of night. However, an even darker presence surrounded the grounds and a wet fog hugged the towers and parapets. The inky combination made it impossible to see out the windows from anywhere above the Great Hall.

Two Death Eaters slipped inside the school grounds gates near Hogsmeade station. They pulled their skull masks over their eyes and clouds of silver breath rose up into the chilly air.

"You remember the orders?" one asked in a low whisper.

"Of course, Lucius," a husky feminine voice answered.

"Good, he will meet us here. Once we set foot beyond that wall, his alarm will sound -"

His companion could not contain an evil chuckle.

"And if he is as smart as these idiots say he is, he will come alone."

………………………………….

It was two in the morning when Hermione was violently woken from sleep, the door to her room being practically beaten off its hinges and the noise nearly frightening her into hyperventilating.

It was almost too much to take as she lifted the latch and Yeva Parajanov's shaking, tattered form tumbled onto her carpet. Her eyes and cheeks were smeared with trails of makeup from earlier, her clothing torn, and limbs littered with bruises and scrapes.

Overwhelming was the scene that unfolded, to hear her beg for a place to hide, a place to be safe until morning… where he wouldn't find her - where she wouldn't be taunted by the rest of Slytherin house, in danger of being abused again.

"Please just help me, Hermione" was all the poor girl could muster before fainting in a heap at the Head Girl's feet.

………………………………..

"I'm asking, Nina," Lupin said once more. "Nicely... I'm asking you nicely."

Professor Nina Vector shuffled the parchment on her office desk in attempts to distract herself from the growing problem manifesting before her. Remus Lupin stood leaning against the door frame, his hair disheveled, and his hands held out in askance, begging her.

"Nina-"

"What exactly do you want me to do?" she asked harshly in a whisper. Her short brown bob bounced a little around her cheeks as she replied, eyebrows knit above fierce hazel. "You got yourself into this mess, Remus. Technically speaking, there are no rules in the way of a relationship under these circumstances."

Lupin moved away from the wall to take a seat in the chair opposite her desk. Mountains of parchment rippled in the breeze of his cloak and Nina realized that it was the same cloak he had worn to the ball earlier that evening. He hadn't changed, providing more evidence of how bothered he was… it was almost pitiful.

"All those exams," he whispered, as he inspected the surroundings. "You must need some help grading them?"

"What makes you think you're matched with me in the subject, Remus?" She looked up from the wood of her desk and smiled. He was instantly relieved. He knew she would help him.

"Never you mind. Consider me lenient anyway, because if I had taken you up on that horrible bribe you bet you'd be begging for mercy in a minute. I know for a fact that you enjoy Arithmancy about as much as a Skrewt enjoys a good swim!" She smirked.

Lupin's face grew serious again and Nina sighed.

"I don't know what to tell you really," she started softly, refocusing her gaze upon the clock that hung behind him. "I checked those records against Binns' notes and you know how accurate they are. You know how he always says, down to the-"

"-Last detail," he finished her sentence. "I know… I just don't know what to do now… I tried to sleep but can't… knowing he… knowing things I'm not quite sure how to handle. But I mean it. I don't know what to do… Now that I'm sure I… sure that I-"

"Love her?" she said. The words sat on the air.

There was a heavy pause.

"Yes."

Nina stood from her seat and lifted the teapot on the credenza.

"My, Remus, this is complicated indeed."

Lupin looked to his slightly shaking hands.

"Nina, when I came to you looking for a loophole in the handbook, I wasn't actually thinking of all the possibilities. I wasn't prepared for a contest. Not with my heart involved. I guess I thought it would be simple." He trailed off before catching his breath again. "She is of age yes, but what of student teacher relations?"

"As I've explained, Remus. Binns assured me there is no rule against the pursuit of a student teacher relationship, as long as the student is of age and there is consent. I would not have allowed you to owl her if I had any doubt."

Remus looked excited suddenly.

"Yes, but who knows of these practically hidden laws, other than me? You and Binns… perhaps the Headmaster? I could find her… yes! And tell her that it was a mistake. That it is against school rules and that she must not be involved with… anyone… until graduation. That way I'd have time, to try again, and-"

"Hermione Granger is the brightest student Hogwarts has seen, Remus."

"Of course she is-"

"Yes, I even venture to say smarter than a few of the staff… perhaps myself!" She became cross instantly. "You'll make it worse by trying to fool her, you will!"

"I'm losing her," he said with conviction. "I'm losing her."

Nina met his eyes with compassion, placing her elbow on a stack of papers, and leaning her chin on top of her knuckles.

"You never had her, Remus, you know it… and you'd be wrong to steal her. If she's not destined to be yours then so be it. She's a prisoner otherwise."

"She could love me."

"She won't."

"How do you know!" He pushed the desk away from himself and rose violently from the chair, unsettling Nina's chin and causing her to jerk forwards. Scattered parchment from under her elbow fluttered from the desk. "How do you know this? You don't know her!" 

Professor Vector caught a flying exam in her hand and tucked it into the pocket of her ivory robes.

"Neither do you," she said calmly.

"I'm in _love_ with her!" He threw his hands in the air and then pointed a finger. "Don't you tell me I don't know the woman I love!"

Lupin paced back and forth, processing the words he had heard from his long-time friend. His eyes shifted rapidly, reviewing the recent exchange.

"Wait," he said deeply. "You said 'steal', Nina. You said I'd be wrong to steal her."

"I-"

"What do you mean by that?" He was away from himself for the moment. He looked distant and dangerous. "What of this stealing?"

"Merlin! Remus, don't pretend you don't know!" Nina finally squealed. "You've known all along, you've had to!"

"What?"

"See for yourself."

Professor Vector slipped her willow wand from the sleeve of her robes.

She tapped it slowly on her small easel chalkboard, and with a whispered incantation, the array of problems vanished and were replaced with an iridescent screen. At once a grid of silver numbers moved increasingly across their coordinate lines and changed rapidly so that it appeared they worked themselves out.

Lupin forgot his predicament for a moment to admire the beauty of the charm.

And then the numbers changed to runes, and from runes they changed to symbols. Once they were hieroglyphics, they slowed to a stop. A pattern of icons in the shape of a silver key remained, and on it Nina placed her hand.

"_Segreto Rivelato_," she said, and the whole room filled with silver light.

Where the board once stood, there was a blank white screen and soon Professor Lupin was gazing at Hermione. Or rather, the image of Hermione moving through the crowd at the ball earlier that evening.

And there _he_ was, with her, his arm around her waist as he guided her to the dance floor. It was before the Gryffindors had taken her aside.

They began to dance, swaying in circles and fading into the brilliant light of the room. Their surroundings unfocused and melted into glitter as they twirled. She laughed, as did he, and the music became more and more obscure. 

"I remember this, Nina," he said.

"Hush, watch," she replied.

Remus' eyes scanned the scene for something out of the ordinary, but all he saw was what he remembered - through the eyes of Nina Vector instead… strange from a different perspective, as if his dancing with Hermione was being filmed for a movie.

"I see nothing out of the ordinary," he said then. "We were enjoying ourselves."

"No… wait… there now, see?" She pointed to the edge of the screen, where a few faculty members stood, Severus Snape among them. He moved wistfully in his trail of black robes, and his silhouette was almost blurred in the low light.

"Now look at-" Nina started, but it was not necessary. She trailed off once she noticed Remus' disbelieving eyes.

Hermione, with her chin rested against Remus' shoulder, looked far beyond where they were situated, her eyes fixed on the French doors that Severus occupied. Her face held a longing expression that mimicked, strangely, the crushing feeling in Lupin's chest as he watched the memory unfold once more.

"Severus." Remus said rather dumbly, forcing a swallow on a dry throat as he turned away from the screen, not needing any more of it.

"_Finite Incantatem_," Nina whispered, forcing herself to look upbeat, while her friend looked so forlorn.

"It certainly wasn't Filius she had her eye on, I'll tell you -"

"Do inform me of the humor in this, Nina!" Remus shouted loudly, causing her to jump a little.

"Well, what I guess I meant to s -" 

"Severus!" he shouted in disbelief.

"Yes."

"That bastard doesn't deserve shit."

"Remus!" Nina reprimanded. "Where has all this… _disdain_ come from? Honestly, what happened to supporting the new life for the Potions Master?"

"Oh hell, Nina, you knew him as well as I did in school, always a rat… a bully -"

"Always the one being bullied, if I'm not mistaken, _Moony_!" she yelled.

"Defending the snake in the situation now then?"

"Excuse me?... You're crazy. I don't know what's happened to you, Remus. But, whatever it is, I don't like it!"

"You know me, Nina, better than anyone still around in the midst of this blasted war, and you choose to take sides with the Death Eater?"

"The Death Eater that saved your arse from lycanthropy you mean?"

"No, the Death Eater that struck me when I chose to show gratitude, the Death Eater who fucks himself stupid with opium every weekend, the Death Eater that killed and raped hundreds of women and children, innocent Muggles - I don't bloody care if he takes out He Who Must Not Be Named with his bare hands! He is the last person I'd… I'd almost rather she be with Draco Malfoy to be honest…"

"The spawn of Lucius Malfoy!… Now I know you've got your head on wrong. You know as well as I do that Severus is no longer any more a Death Eater than I am! You're mighty hypocritical to argue his unsuitability to society and to this new life… for what it's worth, you said it yourself!"

"_You_ are kind, Nina. You are respectable, and gentle. You care about feelings and emotions and things like that… he doesn't, he -"

"You're wrong."

"Like bloody hell I'm wrong!"

"You're wrong because Hermione is in love with him, that's enough for -" 

"Don't you say that."

"I will say it, because it's true. There is no way possible you didn't have a previous idea that she may have feelings for Severus. You are known for jealousy, as you've always been. But just because someone your age replaces you –"

"Don't you dare, Nina - Hermione is under a spell."

"Ha! Hardly. Hermione is smarter than three of you, and you know that. Perhaps that's why you thought you were in love with her."

"Go to hell," he said softly.

"I believe that's what Severus told _you_, the last time you tried to reason with him. Unless I am mistaken… or are you not giving me all the facts?"

"I can't believe you're siding with Severus Snape here! The man who in his fourth year set your origami collection on fire?"

"I'm not siding with anyone, and if I did it would be with Hermione, Remus. We're not fourteen here. Refrain from such petty comments… I'll be forced to hex you."

"No, you're forgetting, Nina. You may be a Ravenclaw, but there is no mistaking when you're hiding something."

"I have nothing to hide, Remus," she said honestly.

"I know for a fact that you've spoken with Severus," he stated plainly.

"What?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, you've seen Severus."

"What is wrong with you?" She was beginning to remember.

"I have full reason to believe there is something against me here. I saw you both leave the hall at the same time two nights ago."

"It's nearly two in the morning, Remus. You really need some sleep." This business was confidential.

"I want to trust you, I want to rest… but how? You were in deep conversation…"

"So then what, Remus? I'm not permitted to enjoy a conversation with a colleague? You are really being a son of a bitch right now."

"Am I?" He chuckled darkly. "You are too bold to pull that card." He scratched his head harshly, disheveling his hair even more than it already was, his movements breaking the rhythm of the crossfire. "And you know what? I brushed it off figuring, what the hell, it's only a word or two. Yet all the while I had been confiding in you. Don't you think it would have been wise to tell me about what had transpired? At least so I wouldn't be left wondering? I honestly didn't know what it could possibly have been about. I thought you might have been telling him to give me another chance, possibly convincing him to apologize for his behavior. But I understand now. It's all about something you don't want me to know. Fine. I'm not quite sure I want to know what could possibly make Severus Snape actually smile!" He breathed rapidly, swallowing onto a parched throat.

"Smile? Did he smile? That's odd. I didn't notice," she said, surprised. She briefly wondered why he sounded so jealous.

There was a pause.

"You bitch, you have some nerve!"

"Oh fine you ruddy dumb ox! I _was_ speaking to Severus, and yes, it was important, but no, none of your concern."

"And you say I've gone crazy?" he asked sarcastically.

"You have. And if you must know, I've agreed to put him up in a villa in Florence. The poor thing is in a terrible situation involving a potion. He needs a plant that can only be found in the lower regions of Tuscany, and he was seeking a safe and inconspicuous place to stay. It's my grandmother's villa… so check if you need proof. Maybe you can write a book about this new-found discovery, Sherlock! Are you happy now?"

"No." He turned and walked to the door.

"You can leave then," she said sternly.

"Poor thing, you call him… poor thing," he said with distaste as he opened the door.

……………………………

"He plays the piano you know," Yeva murmured absentmindedly to the air.

Hermione eased her limp body gently into the charmed bathwater of the giant tub. The steam rose to fog the surrounding mirrors. The small chandelier of the plated ceiling was blazing low. Heavy scents of aloe and lavender rose from the frothy water.

"Who?" Hermione said inattentively once she'd settled Yeva against the seat in the porcelain tub.

"My uncle Severus," Yeva whispered in reply.

Hermione hadn't listened to the question and the answer had caught her off guard. She was really focused on healing Yeva's wounds at the moment, and the bathwater was successfully erasing all visible cuts and bruises. Hermione had to admit she was pleased with her charm.

"I should have taken you to the hospital wing," Hermione said seriously as she sat down at the edge of the tub. "They're going to have to be informed of this, you know."

Yeva breathed deeply, submerging herself completely and returning so that her chin skimmed the surface. Her dark wet hair fanned out against the foamy opaque water. "Mmm," she hummed. "What did you do to this water? I feel like a new witch."

"Yeva, listen to me!" Hermione shoved the palms of her hands against her forehead suddenly, and spoke unbelievingly into her lap. "You were raped!"

"No, he didn't rape me," she stated. "He just -"

"Assaulted you? Beat you? Honestly, what's the difference!" Hermione, looking up at Yeva again, was quietly distraught – acutely aware of the acoustic nature of her bathroom. "Gods, your first year at Hogwarts and _this_ happens, it's horrendous!"

"I'm used to it," she said matter-of-factly.

"Tell me you're not serious," she said after she found her words.

"I am, Hermione, unfortunately –"

"What do you mean unfortunately!" Hermione was dangerously close to screeching. Her overt concern echoed unpleasantly against the aged tile.

"I mean unfortunately, it's my life, the life I have both chosen and been forced into… it's complicated." She was calm as she said this, disturbingly calm. And her voice never faltered or shook.

Had Hermione been given enough time before the shock of her life in the next second, she probably would have realized the girl's odd countenance.

Her neck stretched unnaturally to see further into the tub, head cocked to one side, and mouth hanging slightly agape, a bar of soap slid from her grasp.

Yeva, bewildered, glanced to both left and right, looked down at herself, her naked torso… her arm…

Hermione tumbled backwards, falling into one of the window panels and knocking three fluffy red towels from the shelves, as well as a perfume bottle that shattered into tiny shards. The overly potent, sickly-sweet scent of berries assailed her nostrils and she coughed. Once she regained her balance and collected her thoughts, she stood and fixed Yeva with a dangerous gaze set to 'laser'. Reaching into her bathrobe, she whipped out her wand and held it like a fencing rapier between herself and friend.

Yeva sat defenseless, squeezing her eyes shut, terrified of both the terrible curses that Hermione knew, and the utter lack of preparation she had put into an explanation.

"Hermione! Please!" she pleaded over Hermione's heavy breathing.

"You…how could… have… what… w..when?" Hermione could not bring herself to formulate a sentence. All that surfaced in her mind were the comments from Ginny and Harry, about this, her… Yeva Parajanov. That "shifty Slytherin".

"Is there an anti-glamour spell in this water?"

"It has those effects yes," Hermione bit back.

"Well that would explain it."

"You had better explain yourself!" Hermione shouted angrily, her throat instantly raw.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Yeva stood in the tub with her back to her for what seemed like an eternity until she finally rose from the water, the candles making her tan skin glisten while it was damp. She lifted her hand to the stack of red towels on the opposite side of the circular room. Pulling one around herself, she muttered something and her dripping hair twirled up against her head. Her body dried with another whisper.

"Perhaps the bedroom is better suited for conversation," Yeva finally said quietly, inclining her head towards the crack in the mirrored doorway.

The adrenaline in Hermione's veins and the wand in her hand still made her a vicious adversary to the unarmed, unclothed Yeva.

"Alright," Hermione said, her voice momentarily caught in a whisper. Her expression hadn't changed since her last comment, and when she nodded her head the tension in her facial muscles relaxed. It felt better. 

Yeva followed Hermione wordlessly, silently praying that her explanation would do her situation justice.

Once inside the bedroom, Yeva took a seat on the large window ledge, tucking her legs under herself and repositioning the towel as best she could.

Hermione relit the hearth with a wave of her readied wand and chanced a look at Yeva who, presently, was trying to get comfortable under a towel that was barely giving her coverage. Before she thought she spoke.

"Just tell me there isn't any reason to inform Dumbledore of anything other than your attack…"

Yeva sighed.

"I promise you. No."

"Then." Hermione bit her lip in thought and walked over to her closet, never taking her eyes off of the other girl. "Here, take these."

Yeva looked down at the carpet where Hermione had just tossed a black tee-shirt and a pair of red terry cloth drawstring shorts. She drew one of her famous eyebrows up into a strange expression, as if Muggle clothing was the equivalent of a potato sack.

"No guest of mine will freeze to death," Hermione said, corpse-calmly. "Put them on."

A weight lifted from Yeva's shoulders. "Thank you," she said.

There was a rustling and a slight creaking of ancient redwood.

"Okay," Yeva said quietly to announce she was clothed.

Hermione furrowed her brow, turned around and hurried over to her bed. She lifted and smoothed the comforters down in a frenzied motion that reflected the awkwardness of their situation. Scooting Crookshanks lightly towards the foot of the bed, she hopped up and lit the table lamp with a soft "_Lumos_".

"Well come sit on the bed then," Hermione said after she realized Yeva was content to sit staring at her from the window seat. "I'm going to assume you have a long story to tell… if you feel well enough tonight, that is…"

"No, that's too kind." Yeva stood and walked over to the four-poster, her arms folded across her chest. "I want to explain."

"Very well then," Hermione said. "I'd feel much better with an explanation."

Yeva sat and drew her legs to her chest, her small toes wriggled into the soft bedding, her arms still squeezed her chest tightly.

"Yeva, honestly, make yourself comfortable," Hermione said unexpectedly as she arranged a few throw pillows behind the smaller girl's back. "There, now rest." She reasoned that Yeva at least deserved a fair chance, especially since she had been attacked… and that Hermione knew her wand was still at close reach.

Yeva complied with a sigh of relief. Yet her arms still clutched her ribs so tightly it looked painful.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've already seen it," she whispered quietly. "I'm not going to wig out again, I promise."

Yeva's eyes suddenly filled with tears and she bit her pretty lips in stress.

"Okay," Hermione breathed out. "I completely realize it's not what it seemed to be, Yeva." She smiled. "I overreacted –"

"You acted as you should have acted," Yeva said shakily, a tear regretfully escaping her right eye, the one that was closest to Hermione.

"If you'd explain we'd both feel better… just calm down."

Yeva sighed shakily and wiped her eyes with her right hand, letting her left drop to her side.

"Let's have a look then," Hermione whispered.

Yeva lifted her somewhat runny face and met Hermione's soft gaze. The tears in her large indigo eyes made the irises sparkle and shine like some precious gem. Hermione recalled those strange eyes on more than one occasion. It was as if they had a way of shifting. At times Hermione had seen them so cold and lifeless they were almost black, and now, as she sat looking at them this way, she felt drawn and calm. It was so fragile and beautiful, not dark or shady in the slightest.

Yeva raised her left arm slowly over her stomach. When her fingers reached the comforter on the other side of her legs she rested her wrist in her right hand. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she rotated her elbow so that the tainted underside of her forearm was completely visible. All the while, her gaze never wavered from Hermione's face, even when the older girl lowered her eyes and involuntarily breathed a sharp breath of air.

They stayed like that for nearly a full minute, frozen in awkward silence, Hermione's eyes following the dark pattern of the serpent through the hollowed eyes of the skull. The detail of the branding was comparable to a faded Muggle tattoo, and the grayness of it was surely because of lack of any dark activity.

The moment was beyond surreal. Hermione's ears filled as though she had changed altitude and her eyes widened even more to examine this new reality before her. The outline of the mark was unnatural in color to the tawny tone of Yeva's skin, and it was also slightly raised so that the fact that it was permanent could not be ignored. The thin areas of raised flesh were rosy and blushed… it looked aching.

"Does it hurt?" was the first thing Hermione found herself asking.

Yeva smiled and her eyes wavered a bit.

"Not now, no," she answered.

Hermione sensed Yeva's sadness and the mark so vivid on her seemingly innocent skin almost pushed her to the verge of her own tears.

"Then why –" Hermione began to ask gently.

"I was forced."

Silence.

Hermione looked away.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, disillusioned and humbled in her words.

Yeva made herself laugh.

"Now you know why I'm a Slytherin," she said.

Hermione didn't laugh. Instead she said, sternly, "This isn't right."

"It's my life now."

"It isn't right!" Hermione said loudly.

Yeva placed a hand on Hermione's knee to calm her, her eyes glazed again, but a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders once she realized the trust she could put into this friend.

"I live with this, because I must. I am a Death Eater now."

"You are no Death Eater," Hermione started with conviction. "Death Eaters are cold lifeless beings with no soul, no heart, no room in their bodies for anything but evil." She had risen so she sat kneeling, wrinkling the comforter in her excitement. "Death Eaters are twisted villains, cowards who exist for only their selfish gratifications… You may have that mark, Yeva, but you are no Death Eater!"

She finished her rant on one breath so that she inhaled deeply once she had spit the last of it from her mouth.

There was a pause and Yeva looked stunned.

"Thank you," she said after some time. "And I mean it." She sighed. "If only someone could convince Severus the same." She held her breath, expecting another scream, or at the very least, a gasp. But Hermione sat still and slowly closed her eyes.

Yeva studied her expression curiously.

"The gods know I've tried," she whispered, not realizing the underlying implications of her words.

………………………………

"You look quite striking tonight, Severus."

Even the softness of those icy words left the skin on the Potions Master's back tense with gooseflesh.

"To what do I owe such an undeserving compliment, my lord?" His words were falsely sincere and articulate, though his insides were hardly comparable.

The Dark Lord moved to face Snape, his cardinal eyes narrowed to slits and his wet gray tongue ran along a rotten row of sharp teeth.

"You look lively again… like the old days. The indigo suits you well." His words couldn't be more thoughtless. "Been out raping again, have you?"

"I'll get around to it," Snape replied, his stomach knotting.

"Treat yourself, Severus, it's Halloween night. Even your skills cannot hide that gleam in your eye. Have we a new whore then?"

"No, my lord."

"Oh I sense that we do. Don't be so shy, Severus. You must introduce me…"

Severus bowed his head in frustration and bit his tongue. He had, in his exhaustion, forgotten to close his mind. In those short seconds that had passed he could have been found out. Instead, the Dark Lord had only surface scanned his thoughts. He closed his eyes and squinted, formulating words of skilled Occlumency in his mind.

"I assure you, my lord. I have not been in the company of a whore."

The stern black gaze was safely settled on his face once more.

"Alright, Severus." The Dark Lord chuckled. "I thought for a moment you might have gone soft."

"Never, my lord."

"Of course not." The corner of his crooked mouth twitched before he changed the subject. "The Tuscan Moonflower… that is awfully rare is it not?"

"It is, my lord. But I assure you it is necessary."

"I am convinced." He smiled twistedly. "Such a powerful potion should call for powerful ingredients. Where will you be staying?"

"A colleague's villa, my lord."

"In Florence? Purebloods?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Very good. And you leave?"

"The first of December, my lord."

Voldemort moved to the corner of the small parlor they were standing in. The low light of the candelabra on the windowsill cast ghoulish shadows onto the rather large portrait of Mortimer Malfoy, his silver-blonde hair hung sharply round his aged and bony face. The recently deceased bastard, Severus remembered, had spoiled Lucius rotten while they were in school, much as Lucius continued to do to Draco.

Severus' keen senses had alerted alarms in his head. Voldemort had pulled him away from the festivities to speak alone. And that could only mean the dark wizard had picked up on the scent of deception. Snape knew he was being tested.

"Cigarette?" Voldemort uttered quietly. He took a seat in one of the hearth chairs, not bothered in the slightest by the cold dark wood below the grate. Not bothered in the least by the near freezing temperature of the small room.

"No thank you, my lord."

"No?" The Dark Lord raised his forehead where his eyebrow should have been. "Then sit at least, Severus. Tonight I am celebrating."

Snape reluctantly sat in the chair opposite.

"Did you speak with Dumbledore at all this evening?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Yes, my lord. We spoke in passing. He was muttering some nonsense about dancing at the ball I was expected to attend."

Voldemort laughed then, a sour breath of cigarette smoke invaded the air.

Snape hated the sound of his laugh. It was somehow worse than the sound of his anger.

"And did you dance?" was the question that hit the conversation next.

"I did not."

"A shame," Voldemort whispered, tossing the cigarette butt into the dark hearth. 

"Pardon, my lord?" Severus asked in limited shock.

"I feel it is a shame, Severus, that Dumbledore's final request of you was not fulfilled." His lips curled into a twisted smile. His crusty teeth glistened in the moonlight from the window.

Someone howled drunkenly in the next room, and laughter permeated the wall.

"My lord, I am not certain that I understand." Snape grit his teeth. He knew what was coming and all his strength was needed in staying void of emotion. This was his test, and Merlin be damned if he was going to lose this fight.

"Headmaster Dumbledore is on the verge of his demise as we speak, Severus."

"Oh?" Severus bit his tongue until he tasted blood. "Are you certain of this, my lord?"

"Very."

Voldemort seemed to revel in Snape's unease.

"What has been done, my lord?" Snape asked again, his eyes holding their glassy motionless quality, his stomach snapping in two.

"Lucius and Bellatrix have gone to Hogwarts tonight, with the Death Stone."

Even the walls of Snape were breaking. His eyes widened.

"The legendary Death Stone, my lord?" he asked in a wavering voice.

Voldemort watched him intently, sensing the shaken quality to his voice, mistaking it for excitement.

"Pity it was only three Muggle murders that it cost." Voldemort smiled again and chuckled. "Grindlewald's stone… would you believe? In a Muggle museum?"

Snape shook his head wordlessly.

_Tell me it's a lie_, he thought. He felt as if he were being strangled.

The only trace of the Dark Lord Grindlewald since his downfall was in the hands of the Death Eaters. And now the magic it contained was to destroy Albus Dumbledore. Now, before he, Severus Snape, had ever had a chance to say anything fond… even a thank you.

His face remained stone deadpan.

"And they have taken the stone to kill him, my lord?" Snape hoped Lucius' thick head had not processed the details pertaining to the magic of the Death Stone, but he knew his hopes were in vain.

"No, Severus, I am the Great Dark Lord Voldemort, and you don't give me enough credit. I know that the Stone alone could not kill the _great_ Albus Dumbledore."

"No."

"They have taken the Elixir." He laughed. "They plan to give him a taste. This is marvelous news, don't you agree, Severus?" His eyes gleamed.

Snape resisted the urge to vomit.

"An old man is no match for two strong Death Eaters and the Elixir of Death, Severus. I do so hope you had the chance to tell him how much you appreciated his hospitality."

"I had no idea the stone was still a threat in existence, my lord," Snape said, feigning excitement.

"A threat?" Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"To Dumbledore," Snape asserted.

"Yes, Severus. I assure you that it is… and now was."

"You could have told me, my lord," Snape said clearly, his anger and emotion boiling under his skin, aching to rise.

Voldemort sensed his anger, though not it's placement. He delighted in every second of it, assuming Snape was angry at his lost position in the ranks. When really, his shriveled heart could never know the excruciating guilt and sadness that was taking over the younger man's brain… because Severus had lost the one who loved him most when he was least loveable.

"I could have, Severus," Voldemort said coldly as he rose from his chair. "I could have."

……………………………..

"My father was the Great Vartan Parajanov, renowned seer and son of the last king of Wizarding Armenia – the wizards of Armenia were still royal then. His marriage was arranged to a princess he did not love, so he fled the country and found his heart in England."

"I had wondered where you were from," Hermione interrupted. "Though your accent is a little hard to place, almost like a mix of a few…" 

"Well I have been on the run half my life, Hermione, but I'll get to that point."

"Please, continue then," Hermione said quickly as she stretched her legs on the comforter.

"Well, Sylvia Snape, Severus' older sister, was said to be the most beautiful woman in Wizarding Britain, and though her family – our family – was infamously known for their involvement with the Dark Arts, Sylvia put her skills into becoming an Auror without the rest of the family's knowledge.

Ironically, my parents met the night the Dark Lord returned, when the Aurors my mother worked for invaded an abandoned house believed to be inhabited by Death Eaters and instead found my father. It was the night Severus decided to return to the light after so many years, the night the Potters were killed."

Hermione exhaled shakily and Yeva checked to see if she was still listening. Hermione motioned for her to continue.

"It was my father's wish to marry my mother and return to Armenia as king, but he never made it back to his homeland. The Dark Lord returned again when I was 10 years old, and once he realized Severus had betrayed him and returned to Dumbledore, he quickly took out his anger on my parents. In his rage, he burned Snape Manor to the ground, killing my grandparents and all trace of the Snape bloodline."

"Dear gods," Hermione said through a gasp before she motioned for Yeva to continue.

"One night, our small house in London was attacked. A Death Eater pressed his wand to my throat and threatened my life. My parents had no choice but to sell their soul to the Dark Lord in exchange for my survival.

Nothing can prepare a child for their parents' farewell. And their last words to me will haunt my mind, possibly forever… and still I don't want to forget."

Hermione immediately thought of Harry.

"My father rolled me into his strong arms and looked at me with those deep blue eyes of his.

'My Yeva,' he said. 'Don't you ever forget how much I love you.'

'Daddy!' I screamed when they dragged him away.

That was when my mother grabbed my hand. Her black hair had been undone from the braid in her struggle, and tears were falling freely from her eyes.

The monsters held her too far away to hold me, but her hand squeezed mine tightly.

'I love you, Yeva, I will always love you,' I remember her saying desperately through choked sobs. 'Be brave, my little princess.'

And then they were gone.

They were killed a day later. The Daily Prophet noted unknown causes, but my little heart knew it was the Death Eaters. My ten-year-old heart knew the Demon Lord Voldemort had returned, even if it took the rest of the world five more years to believe."

Hermione's face was wet with tears and her eyes were puffy.

"You're a princess," she said with a smile.

"Yes, I am." Yeva smiled a little through her own tears. "It doesn't mean much anymore."

"I think it does," Hermione said as she rearranged the pillows behind her head. "Where did you go from there?"

Yeva bit her lip. Crookshanks stirred a little at the foot of the bed and he began to purr.

"The next thing I knew I was on a train to Durmstrang, where I spent the next six miserable years of my life. Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"You should be happy then," Yeva replied. "I had no friends because I refused to involve myself with black magic. The Dark Arts were taught freely and the professors were all Death Eaters. Headmaster Karkaroff was one who was actually fairly decent. Looking at him there was no doubt he had been a Death Eater with his short temper and fits of rage, but he had family ties with me, explained that a cousin of mine had once been engaged to him before she died. Since I was a year younger than the rest of the first-years when I arrived, Karkaroff allowed me to spend my first year in rooms he built off the side of his study. Most days he was very unpleasant and did not allow me much freedom around the castle. But sometimes, rarely, he would spend time teaching me Defense Against the Dark Arts spells and showing me pictures of my cousin Ani, who had once been his fiancé.

I felt sorry for the man more than anything. He treated me like the daughter he never had, and now, he's dead. Somehow it's not surprising. It seems that all those who were ever kind to me are gone."

"I'm here," Hermione chimed.

"I know," Yeva said as she pursed her lips. A thoughtful expression came over her face, and she continued with her story.

"Shortly after Headmaster Karkaroff was killed for his refusal to return to the Dark Lord, I received a letter by owl. It was late and most of my roommates were asleep. I couldn't believe my eyes when I found it was from Severus, informing me that he had no idea I was still alive, and that he wished to bring me to Hogwarts at once. My heart skipped a beat when I realized my uncle had survived all those years and I hopped off my bed that instant and started packing.

Ever since I came to Hogwarts the world seems like a dream. For what I've been through, this place is heaven. And I know that it is more than I could ever ask for.

On the night of my return I was taken to a revel and forced to take the Dark Mark after Severus assured me it was necessary for the promise of my safety… you understand."

Hermione nodded.

"I was reunited, very unfortunately, with Draco Malfoy, who had been a childhood playmate, mostly at my mother's Christmas parties. He hasn't grown all that much since he was crawling around Snape Manor as a toddler, I'll tell you."

Hermione let herself laugh a little.

"Yes, and now I'm here, sixth-year Slytherin at Hogwarts, and I couldn't be better under the circumstances."

"Draco still attacked you."

"Yes, and now you understand why I can't do a damn thing about it."

"That doesn't change the fact that I want to hex that slimy bastard to oblivion."

"So do I," Yeva answered sternly. "But still, Severus remains at the top of my worry list." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I came back expecting to find the uncle I knew from childhood – the sarcastically funny, charmingly handsome, brilliant wizard I remembered – not some slowly deteriorating, harsh, broken man stuck in the deadly cycle of spying and pretending. Even I am surprised he's held up this long. I know how much he loves Dumbledore when I see what he's agreed to. I see how loyal he is and it makes my heart ache for him, night and day. I mean this lightly, but he was kinder as a Death Eater. Perhaps because I was one of the few things that made him smile then… He actually played with me when I was little. When I was six he even took me to the Quidditch World Cup. He carried me on his shoulders through the crowd and laughed at my excitement. The happiest I remember seeing him…

I was so young then, but I could sense his hatred of himself. I knew that it came from something deep and painful, the way my grandfather treated him as a boy, the way he was treated at school. But he loved me then, as I'm sure he loves me now…"

The last of Yeva's words had trailed off as if her mind had picked up on something new. The words she had said seemed to spark a hidden emotion in Hermione and she watched her intently.

"You knew Severus was one of us… before I asked." Yeva stated this, without a question.

Hermione lifted herself from the pillows she had reclined against. "Yes, well, when you're friends with Harry Potter, you tend to learn these things." Hermione's sad tone returned to her voice.

"They don't tell me anything," Yeva started again. "About the war or about strategy… Apparently even Death Eaters can be too young to know the truth about what's going on."

"That could be a good thing," Hermione said.

"Not when you're the Dark Lord's chambermaid."

Hermione paled.

"Not a day goes by I do not wish I could be out on the front lines."

"Fighting the light?" Hermione asked slightly puzzled.

"Fighting like Severus." Yeva's eyes filled with pride and it made Hermione's heart skip a beat… for a moment, no longer.

Hermione's chest felt swollen. "He… is amazing," she found herself whisper. "We will be forever in his debt for what he does for us."

Yeva diverted her eyes and smiled half-heartedly.

"You and he had words tonight," she stated plainly.

Hermione's head jerked in surprise - the second time tonight Yeva had caught her off guard.

"We did, yes."

"He is becoming so tragic," Yeva said sadly. "And I am sure you see that."

"Yes." Hermione's eyes became misty again.

Yeva turned once she sensed the deep emotion and blinked. She sat upright and continued to observe Hermione's vacant expression.

"Hermione, before my world turned upside down," Yeva began. "My mother told me of certain emotions even the most skilled Occlumens cannot hide."

Hermione furrowed her brow and gave Yeva a painfully confused expression.

"When I said I did not understand she gave me my first Occlumency lesson." Yeva's smile wavered a bit. "It wasn't until years later, after she had secured her knowledge of the mind magics over me… after her death… that I realized what she truly meant."

Hermione studied the younger girl's pensive face.

"You are in love with Severus."

The words unfurled in the dark room, dangerously melancholy as they made themselves known.

"I –"

"I knew it from the moment I saw you tonight, Hermione. I didn't even have to enter your mind."

"Yeva!"

"Your eyes at the ball, the way you watched him in the garden… I was being dragged away but I could see it there. These things are so subtle, yet I know they are powerful enough to destroy."

Hermione was overwhelmed by her words. "How can you know?" she asked limply.

"Because my mother was a Legilimens and my father was a seer," Yeva replied. "And because everyone who truly appreciates you would realize what in you has changed."

Hermione's face was flushed and her expression sore. Her mind again relived the events of the ball and in the rose garden.

"I am so in love with him," she finally confessed. "If I could have prevented it… I would have done anything in my power to keep from feeling this agony. Forbidden, unrequited love… I swear, Yeva, it's worse than death… worse than torture."

Yeva lamented as she exhaled the breath she held.

"I _am_ in love with him." Hermione laughed in her realization, choking on the lump in her throat. "I'm in love with him," she announced again to Yeva and the dark room.

Three minutes passed before either spoke again.

"Pity even wizards have not found a cure for love," Yeva said.

"Yeva, I've just confessed my love for a man old enough to be my father, who happens to be your uncle, and that's all you have to say?" Hermione was in disbelief.

"What _can_ I say?" Yeva asked.

"Your advice about the situation for starters."

"You won't want to hear it."

"I do."

Yeva cleared her throat and winced. "Hermione, you could love Severus Snape until your face turns blue, until your heart flies out of your chest in desperation, until Merlin returns. I won't lie to you when I say that the chance of him feeling anything in return, even the slightest… is next to none." She smiled half-heartedly. "I've spent many an astronomy class wishing Uncle Severus would be loved… so that he would have something more than war to live for. But his affection has discontinued in these recent weeks… I wonder if each new rare gesture of endearment towards me is somehow a kiss goodbye."

"Don't say that," Hermione said desperately.

"I wouldn't were it not the truth."

A sound of distress escaped Hermione's throat.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want you to love him, no. We all have loads to bear these days, Hermione, and he needs you to love him. Though he may never answer you, he needs you to love him."

"Too late, I couldn't reverse this if I wanted to," Hermione said. "Not with all the magic in the world."

"Then for gods' sakes _try_, Hermione," Yeva said as she placed a hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to lose and I'm with you."


	15. Calm Before the Storm

No one in Hogwarts could have foreseen what transpired the morning after the ball. The first of the month hit its residents hard with pain, leaving them with nothing to celebrate on an otherwise abnormally warm and sunny November morning. While the birds overhead chirped in the boughs of trees, confused by unseasonable weather, all Hogwarts members of the Order stood solemnly on the lawn, unable to speak.

The unconscious form of Headmaster Dumbledore lay in the dew-damp grass, amongst the previously fallen leaves that glistened as they warmed in the sunshine. His wand lay, snapped clean in half, by the toes of his gold silk slippers. The sight of the old wizard in his Oriental embroidered dressing gown and tassel cap was enough evidence that he had been awoken from sleep and however impossible it may have sounded, unprepared for the evil that had arrived overnight.

Hagrid placed a large arm around a shaking Minerva McGonagall. Her sobs were muffled in the numerous possum pelts that covered his overcoat, and he lifted two fingers to pat her shoulders gently every few moments. The wiry hair of his beard was splattered with silent giant tears and he hummed the Sorting Song involuntarily to keep under control.

A lukewarm breeze shuddered through the bare boughs of the Forbidden Forest trees and whistled with empty determination.

"This is the calm before the storm, I believe," Remus Lupin said as he walked alongside a weary-looking Professor Vector. "And about last night, I–"

"Forget it," she said quickly. "I'm not the one in need of an apology. This is hardly the time."

Remus was caught in an awkward pause for the time being and could do nothing but observe the manner in which the woman beside him tucked her short hair behind her ear and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her cheeks were rosy still from the back and forth panic runs they had been subjected to that morning and her hazel eyes were drained.

"One person I haven't seen this morning is Severus," Remus finally said sternly. "I do certainly hope–"

"Worry about yourself," Nina said with a controlled voice. "I'm going to help Poppy."

Remus was left alone once again, dumbstruck and with a headache.

Poppy Pomfrey was busy surveying the damage. She had administered a Dreamless Sleep Potion as soon as she'd found him lying there a little before six and she reached to check his pulse every so many minutes. She needed to force his body to rest before she could begin to assess the internal damage. This was a dark magic that she had only read about in fairy tales. It was mysteriously beyond any variation of curse or hex in the Restricted Section of the library. The Death Stone was as legendary as its counterpart, yet Flamel had created his stone with a good heart. The previous Dark Lord would not have been as forgiving, especially to the wizard who had destroyed him in the first place.

"Anything I can do, Poppy?" Nina asked softly as she approached her kneeling form.

"I'm afraid not," the mediwitch replied with a sad sigh. "Not if this curse is what I believe it to be, no. I'm afraid not." Her eyes were brimming with tears once more.

When Hermione woke that morning it was a little after ten. The sun was shining through the window and all the overnight fog had dissipated.

Yeva was sitting at the desk, a steaming cup of tea in her hand.

"Morning," she said. "I hope you don't mind, I put some tea on."

"Morning," Hermione said groggily before rising and walking to the full-length mirror next to the closet. "Ugh, Yeva. Now you've seen the true monstrosity of morning Hermione." Her hair was as frizzy as a Pigmy Puff.

Yeva chuckled. "At least it's Saturday."

"At least," Hermione muttered before disappearing into the bathroom with a handful of clothes.

Yeva looked down at herself in the slightly large Muggle clothes Hermione had leant her. She couldn't help settling her gaze on the ugly Dark Mark. It taunted her with its twisted appearance and she was in no mood. "We'll send you to hell where you belong soon enough," she said to it.

Hermione emerged fifteen minutes later, a red puffy towel twisted on her head and clad in a pair of black jeans and bra. She moved to her closet and pulled a green button down shirt from one of the hangers and a black v-neck cashmere jumper she had received as a birthday gift from her mother.

"I cleaned up all that smashed perfume in the bathroom," she said suddenly as she slipped both tops on, before realizing that Yeva was glaring at the mark on her arm with disgust.

"Oh here," Hermione continued. "Let me."

With a point of her wand and a few whispered incantations, Yeva's arm returned to normal appearance.

"Thanks," Yeva said.

"It's nothing." Hermione shuffled around again in her closet before tossing a pair of jeans, a long sleeved navy blue tee shirt, and some undergarments on the floor. "Here."

Yeva looked at the clothes with a puzzled expression.

"They're charmed to fit the wearer, silly," Hermione jested. "Ginny…" She trailed off. "Well, Ginny used to spend the night here all the time. She's rather forgetful so I always keep a charmed set of clothes."

"Thank you," Yeva said again before retrieving the clothing and heading to the bathroom.

"There's an extra toothbrush and some deodorant in the cupboard!" Hermione called after her.

"Huh?" was the startled reply from the slightly open bathroom door.

"Never mind," Hermione said through a laugh. "I forgot you were a Pureblood."

A few more minutes passed and Yeva emerged from the bathroom. The jeans she wore fit her impeccably and the shirt adjusted itself to her ample chest.

She smiled. "I want to thank you, Hermione," she said, quietly. "For everything you did for me last night, for your care, and for your friendship."

Hermione was touched.

"The same goes to you. For, well, just being you."

Yeva laughed.

"No one has ever said that before."

"They should have."

Yeva turned her attention to the desk once more. "What are you working on?" she inquired, quite interested.

Hermione slipped on her mary janes and tossed Yeva some socks and sneakers. She untwirled the towel from her head and messed up her wet hair with her fingers before pulling it up into a loose ponytail and quickly muttering a charm to keep it from frizzing. Then she moved towards the desk to explain.

"Well this," she said as she lifted and unfurled an empty roll of parchment, "is the punishment paper your lovely uncle Snape gave me in detention last month." She laughed. "I've written three words, my full name… so far." She laughed louder. "Somehow, I just can't seem to get inspired to write about how insufferable I am."

"He didn't!" Yeva exclaimed, half shocked, half amused.

"Unfortunately, he did." Hermione sighed and let the parchment roll again. "And I'm not writing it."

"I don't blame you," Yeva said seriously. "But I assume you've prepared yourself for the consequences."

"I'm actually looking forward to them to tell you the truth," Hermione said calmly with a smirk.

Yeva giggled.

"What's this then?" she asked, and pointed to a small leather-bound notebook that was topped with a wet quill.

Hermione's cheeks reddened and she nibbled her lip in bashful realization.

"Your diary?" Yeva questioned after seeing her expression.

"No," she said. "It's a songbook. Something else I do in my spare time."

"You write music?" Yeva was enthralled.

"And sing it, yes." Hermione was blushing profusely now. "No one in the Wizarding world knows this though… only the Muggles back in London."

"You have fans?" Yeva hopped up from the desk chair excitedly.

Hermione laughed.

"I perform at home, around town. I've been doing it for the past three years. Bars, clubs, the like. It's fun."

"You must be amazing."

"They tell me so, but I'm not one for glory really. I'm better as a bookworm." Hermione rolled her eyes and flopped onto her unmade bed.

"Nonsense! You hide behind that bookworm bit, I swear you do!" Yeva shouted crazily. "It's alright to be a good student, but there's a personality behind all that knowledge. It's just aching to get out."

Crookshanks mewed softly to announce his awakening.

"I swear, Yeva. No one here knows this… I don't know why I've hidden it really, but Ginny doesn't even know."

"Now I know." Yeva ran her fingers along the spine of the leather bound notebook.

"You're different," Hermione said. "You get me."

"I don't blame Ginny for being upset, Hermione." Yeva looked serious suddenly. "I'd be upset if I felt I was losing your friendship too."

Hermione sighed and raised herself on her elbows so she could look at Yeva from her position. "I'll talk to her, when the time is right. But I need a break from that lot. I'm tired of pretending I'm still the Hermione I was in fourth year."

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone you're a rock star," Yeva said jokingly.

Hermione laughed.

"Why don't you have a look at that song then and tell me what you think, smart mouth!" Hermione replied as she tossed a gold throw pillow at the smaller girl.

"Sure thing, Madonna!"

Yeva lifted the small black book from the desk. As she flipped to the first non-blank page of staffs and studied the notes and lyrics, Hermione had a realization.

"You know Madonna?"

Yeva chuckled. "Muggles aren't all bad," she replied.

After a few minutes of perusing the song, Yeva looked at Hermione, who happened to be holding her breath.

"This is brilliant," she said. "And familiar, somehow."

"Thank you, I guess," Hermione replied through an onset of blushes.

"It's about a certain Potions Master though, that's clear."

Hermione gasped. "Is it that obvious?" She exhaled in disbelief.

Yeva held up a hand. "I suppose, to someone who's known him all her life."

Hermione sighed in relief.

"It's really beautiful, Hermione. I wish he could see it."

"Not a chance." Hermione was on her feet again and she reached for Crookshanks' food dish to fill it. The ginger cat began purring loudly and rubbing himself against the redwood inlay of the closet doorframe. "He'd laugh in my face."

Yeva wasn't listening.

"I've seen these notes before. Not the words, those are clearly yours… but the notes, I've seen these."

"The melody's not mine," Hermione said shortly after putting cat food in the bowl on the floor and muttering a charm to fill the water dish.

"I'm trying to place it," Yeva said as she pressed her fingers to her forehead and paced with the notebook clasped in her other hand.

Hermione rose nervously from her kneeling position.

"Snape wrote it, all right?" She spat out the words so fast that Yeva nearly missed them. "I followed him one night after he returned from one of your revels. I guess, I couldn't sleep, and I know I should have turned around but I couldn't help it. He plays the piano so beautifully he brought me to tears."

Yeva had a knowing expression plastered to her face that Hermione missed.

"And that's not all, I guess. I mean, I listened to what you said last night. I… you… You're right. No matter how crazy this sounds, Professor Snape brings out the best in me… There's this – how do I say it? – "artistic eye" that I thought I'd forgotten –"

"Yes, he plays divinely, doesn't he?" Yeva asked softly.

Hermione wasn't listening. Instead, she dropped to the floor beside her bed and reached beneath to pull out an old, beat up trunk. Yeva watched in question as Hermione lifted the latch and cleared the dust away. Slowly the case opened and revealed the infamous portrait she had been hiding.

Yeva gasped.

"I guess I might as well show you this too," Hermione said in a tight-lipped voice.

"Holy gods and Merlin's illegitimate children!" Yeva squealed. "Hermione, did you paint that!" She rose from her place at the desk to take a closer look. "It's like he's laying in the box there. You're crazy."

"Well, I –"

"Hermione, you are no artist. You're a prodigy!"

"I –"

There was an urgent knock on the door.

Scrambling to close the trunk, Hermione shoved it under her bed and motioned for Yeva to quickly hide in the bathroom.

"Coming!" Hermione called frantically as she stood and brushed the carpet lint from her trousers.

She was mid-pick of a piece of white fuzz from her left pant leg when everything changed.

"Hermione, open this door!"

Harry Potter's voice could be heard through sobs on the other side. He was… in tears?

"There's no time!" he called again in a hoarse voice, desperate and afraid. "It's Dumbledore! He's been attacked!"

Yeva pushed open the bathroom door again with silent disbelief and followed Hermione to the door.

The two girls followed Harry as he rushed through the castle. The worry and fear in their minds kept them silent as they charged through the near empty halls. Neville and Ron joined them once they reached the Great Hall, but still no words were exchanged as they pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the sunny area of disaster.


	16. All I Own

_I held a jewel in my fingers  
And went to sleep  
The day was warm, and winds were prosy  
I said, "Twill keep"_

I woke - and chide my honest fingers,  
The Gem was gone  
And now, an Amethyst remembrance  
Is all I own

Emily Dickinson

………………………………………

The soft pattering of tears against the starched white cotton of a hospital bed caused the headmaster to lift his head from the book he was reading.

The window beside him was glowing. It was early evening and the flush of late sun was almost salmon colored on the ripples of the curtains and the folded linens of his private room in the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey was busy in her office, filing paperwork and scratching away with quills on this and that, and her door was slightly ajar, which leant another beam of light to the dusky hues.

The room smelled faintly of eucalyptus and mint and the scent of dinner in the Great Hall also permeated, adding warmth to the sparse atmosphere.

Another tear hit the sheets and Albus quickly dislocated the small hardcover to the side table.

"Minerva," he whispered.

"I can't." She softly sobbed, unable to formulate the words she feared to say. Blinking, the tears that brimmed were displaced onto the sheets with a pit-a-pat and she sighed.

She was not one to lose herself so easily, yet her eyeglasses had been removed and her normally strict stature was slumped in defeat. Her eyes were red and swollen and the lines that showed her age seemed to deepen in the twilit shadows.

Now, everything had changed and the hell they'd all been forced to face was only beginning.

The sterling strands of Dumbledore's beard picked up the coral of the sunlight and the twinkle of his eyes could be compared to gemstones – perhaps from tears, perhaps from the sheer anguish of the precious minute. Like a phoenix in its dying days, resplendent in weakness, his radiance was wistful and rare.

"Shhh," he said softly, pulling her down against him to rest her tired body on the slightly tender flesh of his shoulder. He felt like ice to her, even through the cashmere of his dressing gown, and it roused a new wave of tears.

She relaxed into the mattress finally and pulled her feet up so she lay beside him – her heavy fatigue easing but her throat lump deepening.

One of her hands found its way to his chest where it finally rested over his heart. When she could feel it beating she was satisfied enough to swallow and speak again.

"I can't do this, Albus." Her voice was so soft it muffled slightly in the sheet and caught in her throat. She smelled like an apple orchard and he was instantly thrown two dozen years into the past, an afternoon they'd shared alone by the lake in June. He closed his eyes in effort to retain the memory.

"You can't do what, my darling?" he asked and held her lest she fall apart again – lest he fall apart.

She breathed him to indulge her melancholy. The white grey of his beard was once more auburn in the light and she could momentarily reminisce. Imagine they were once again spring lovers with a thousand years to live.

"Headmistress," she said abruptly. "I just… can't." She cried softly as he stroked the loose tendrils of her pearly hair. "I'd sit in that office and brew your tea, watch the years go by in the company of a phoenix that has your eyes… And every conscious second I would walk the halls, the grounds, breathe the air… I'd think of you…"

Dumbledore tightened his grasp and lost himself in the fragile motion of his thoughts… his memories, flooding back with a force that could not be controlled.

"My fate is worse than yours, love," she ventured, "because I'll be here without you and I won't know how."

At this she came undone. The wind blew against the window and sent a few dead leaves fluttering by.

"Hush," Albus whispered as a gentle tear slid from his weary eye. His vision became cloudy when he realized the simple truth they two lovers faced. Their time together was indefensibly approaching end.

And he was dying.

The Elixir had been administered in a weak enough dose to slow the process, yet in thirty days he would be gone. In thirty days Minerva would be the new Head of Hogwarts and the world would salute one hundred and fifty two years of his life.

The soft stream of light from Poppy's office disappeared as she discreetly closed the door.

"No goodbyes… not yet," Minerva said after a few moments. "I'm no good with goodbyes."

"The same goes for me, my love." The tears were falling freely now and for the first time in a very long time he felt afraid.

"Oh, Minerva," he whispered as he rocked them both gently.

"My Minerva."

………………………………………………

"What happened last night?" Neville asked in a trembling voice. "I can't remember anything, Yeva! I feel horrible!"

"Obliviate, Neville," she said through gritted teeth. "Your memory of last night was obliterated."

While everyone was dining in the Great Hall, the fourth floor corridor was deserted. The stained glass window at the end of the hall coruscated on the Persian carpet.

Neville's expression instantly turned from cloudy confusion to a thunderstorm of anger.

"Who the hell did it?... It was Malfoy, wasn't it? What happened, Yeva? TELL ME!" He was shaking with rage and fear. He squinted and pushed a panicked hand through his curly brown hair. "Some Head Boy I turned out to be!"

Yeva reached up on tiptoe and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're a charming Head Boy, Neville, don't say that." She sighed and her hand returned to her side.

Neville turned to lean against the stone of the wall in exasperation, his eyes wide. He looked a mess with his disheveled hair and wrinkled school shirt. His cloak hung from one shoulder and his maroon striped tie was loose around his neck. Yeva couldn't help but notice the fact that his shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing a pleasingly sculpted upper body.

"Try to calm down," she whispered in her signature accent. "I will tell you what happened, but you'll have to promise you'll stay calm. I can't have you doing anything crazy."

Neville looked bitter but it did not change the fact that he needed to know. He nodded. "All right."

"Draco Malfoy saw us together at the ball. We were talking and I had my hand on your arm. Being the arse that he is, he made a scene and nearly blasted a hole in the wall. He cast Obliviate on you and dragged me out into the garden, intending to have his way with me, but I escaped before he could do anything of long-term damage –"

"I'm going to kill that bastard!" Neville screamed. He clenched both fists in seething rage and stood rigidly as his face colored.

Mrs. Norris tiptoed down the corridor and hissed at Neville's outburst.

"Neville, please! It's not helping."

"I know." He bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I just…" He trailed off in a quiet voice that resembled that of a first-year on their way to Hogwarts for the first time.

"What?" Yeva asked softly, stepping closer.

Neville noticed the slight swing of her hips and the way her button-down flattered the curves of her upper body. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely and fell in small layers around her face and those thrilling indigo eyes were sparkling in the orange hues of the stained glass.

"I just… I care about you… a lot." He blushed then cringed. "And that piece of trash hurt you. You can't expect me to just take it."

"If only it were that simple," she replied, averting her gaze. "There are things you don't know… Things not safe to talk of here."

"You can trust me. I promise I can keep a secret!" The little boy Neville was back and it made Yeva smile a little.

"In time, I will. Right now I'm enjoying this peace of mind – the calm before the storm, if you will. I'm content knowing that you don't hate me." She looked away. "And it kills me to know that you eventually will."

In a stunt of daring, Neville stepped closer to her and lifted her chin with his hand. "_Now_ who is being ridiculous? Yeva, I could never hate you."

She instinctively pulled away, remembering her earlier conversation with Hermione. If Hermione had reacted that way, how could Neville, the son of two Aurors mentally destroyed by her leader, the Dark Lord, actually forgive her?

"You don't understand."

"I would if you'd tell me," Neville replied, eyes sad.

"I can't now." Candidly, she scanned the hallway. "When Dumbledore returns to the Great Hall, come and find me. By then things will have settled as much as they are possibly going to." She looked around hurriedly. "If someone sees us they'll get suspicious. I can't risk hurting you."

"I'm the one that's hurt you, Yeva. It's killing me to see you like this," said Neville. He took a deep breath. "Do you trust me?"

All dangers of their situations melted for a moment in the young Slytherin's eyes. Malfoy and the war were forgotten. Emerald and scarlet bled together in a rare moment. Lions and serpents were meaningless.

And Neville was only a boy standing before her – standing before her and caring, really caring. It was something that she missed so much that her eyelids prickled with tears.

"Of course I trust you," she said in a voice she didn't have the strength to give.

……………………………………………

Snape leaned against the window of Dumbledore's room in a panic. His left hand smoothed the raven wing of hair from his forehead and his eyes were squeezed shut in distress.

The clothes he normally adorned he had discarded and instead, in his hurry to remove his killing robes, pulled on a pair of gray trousers he hadn't worn in years and left his white linen shirt untucked at the waist. To be quite honest, he looked like a drunk, and if it hadn't been for the empty condition of his stomach, he would be retching at that very moment… possibly all over the floor. There was no room for shame.

He reached into his worn pocket for the charmed clove cigarettes he always carried and swore under his breath when he realized he had left them on his office desk. The need of a nicotene fix on top of the rest of it all was too much.

Reality was a torment that would not leave his soul alone. Dark circles hung below his soapy eyes and now they seemed so like black pearls, clouded in death.

The skin on his face was sticky from temperature change and dirty sweat. His chin was covered in stubble and it was not suitable for him at all. At one time, he might have cared.

"Don't you dare do anything rash." Dumbledore's voice cracked like a whip on a carcass. The exchange was not pretty. 

"I fucking killed you," Severus answered through a lump in his throat that resembled a double edged sword. His voice was sore and hissed, and he stared motionless, shaking in rage. The French grey of evening was a sallow chalky color, unappealing in the two wizards' periphery. "No matter what you say, Dumbledore, I might as well have cast the killing curse…"

"You didn't know," he replied sadly. There was a pause, a break of silence that was unnecessary. Yet, the headmaster had come to a point of no words… not at that moment. Everything seemed lost.

Then, surprising and strangely relieving as it was... Severus Snape cried.

From where he lay on the hospital bed, Dumbledore could not see his face, but he could hear him. And like a cough it started deep in his strained throat, guttural as his voice already was. His shoulders shook like a scared child and each rigid movement hit the walls of the room with a wave of electricity… Albus was again staring at the broken man who'd come to him so many years ago. The comparison was tragically absolute.

_All those years I thought he'd changed, I thought I changed him_, Albus thought.

_And now those years have gone and we've returned to where we started_. He breathed the medicinal air deep to fill his lungs.

"I am sorry, Severus," Albus whispered ever so softly as he settled down weakly against the pillow.

To that, Snape turned, thoroughly damp and distraught. Rage and disbelief colored his wet cheeks. A few strands of moist hair stuck to his forehead and as he moved closer a sob escaped his wild lips.

"What for? You're _sorry_?" Snape sputtered the questions like that of a first-year. His guard was down; the façade was wiped away completely. "You're dying, Albus, and it's _my_ fault… this is _my_ fault… _my_ fault… _my_ fault…"

Each time he repeated it he mentally stabbed himself.

At that point the whimpering escaped his throat again and he looked to the dying light of the window where he breathlessly found no comfort. Tears poured from his eyes in a storm that had never touched him before. Years and years came racking out in a disastrous thunder. Snape was bawling like a child – sniveling like he did as the lonely student that he was… the child that became the killer… that had become the child again.

And Dumbledore just stared at the ceiling. His eyes were again gem-like as they had been earlier with Minerva.

"I am sorry, Severus," he repeated as he lowered his gaze. "I'm sorry." Barely more than a murmur.

Snape gripped the windowsill and staggered, pain overtaking his inconsolable body. The reality was too much now. It was all too much.

"What are you sorry for, Albus? _What_?" The whining sound of the words was foreign even to him. "I am the one who has failed you. I am the one who will live on knowing I was responsible for your death."

"You are not directly responsible for my death, Severus. I have no doubt in my mind of the intendment of your heart… and I am sorry, not for you, but for what I have in fact failed to see all along."

Snape lifted his trembling head to fix Albus with an unsure expression. Both of his dark eyebrows furrowed to a pained knot between his eyes.

Dumbledore continued wearily; his honesty was soft spoken and pure, but his face held the burden of age.

"Sometimes I forget, Severus… the range of my power as headmaster. My administration is displaced when I view you as one of my problems, and I am sorry." It seemed lonely all of the sudden. The room turned hollow as the headmaster moved his gaze astray. The moon was gold in the sky beyond the window and the cloud cover threatened rain. A few minutes passed between them before Albus finally attempted to lighten the mood.

"Let us not dwell on these things now... Come and sit with me, Severus," he said through a smile as he patted the arm of the nearby chair. "Harry sat with me all afternoon before Minerva came and I am deprived of your company as of late."

Snape visibly relaxed and regained his composure within seconds. Then he moved to sit in the armchair at the bedside.

"Yes, I believe it would be wise to digress," Severus said as he sighed and brought his forefinger to the bridge of his nose. "For my sanity at the very least, however selfish it may be."

"Nonsense." Dumbledore chuckled.

Once Snape had settled himself into the chair he spoke again, seriously. "Albus, I must insist upon cancelling Wednesday's Order meeting. You are not well enough at the present time. They may panic… prematurely."

"Nonsense!" Dumbledore laughed. "If there is one thing I've learned about life, it's that I need to live it! I've booked a swing band, Severus… and a shellfish buffet! Festivities are the cure, I say!"

Snape's lips twitched. "That was quite the Albus Dumbledore reply," he said through a sneer. "And you are expecting me to attend this abomination, I suppose?"

Dumbledore's face was plastered at once with a silly grin and his eyes twinkled playfully. "Why, of course, my boy! Of course!"

"I wouldn't have expected anything less. However…" He held up a hand. "I will indulge in your… festivities, if it will please you." To that he smirked a little.

"And everything is set for your vacation?" Albus was baiting him now.

Snape snickered. "Hardly a vacation, Albus. Hardly."

"Italy is such a delightful place." Albus sighed. "Wizarding Tuscany is one of the tourist capitals of our world, Severus, as I am sure you know."

"Don't remind me."

"I mean no harm, only to suggest…"

"Oh damn. What is up your sleeve now? What ideas could possibly be hiding in that bedpan?"

Dumbledore fixed him with a theatrically serious glare and then burst into laughter. Snape smiled.

"You see, Severus? You're not so much the brooding _artiste_ we know you as. Your sense of humor seeps through from time to time."

Snape narrowed his eyes.

"Alright, speak. I haven't got all night."

"Hermione Granger will accompany you to Florence."

Silence.

"I haven't the time for obtuse jokes, Albus. You –"

"I am completely serious, Severus. I will not have you laboring away in one the world's most beautiful cities alone!"

"Preposterous!" Snape rose swiftly to his feet. "Miss Granger knows nothing of the complications of this potion! I am not… will not…" He trailed off due to the fact that Albus was laughing so hard he looked as if he might explode. His face was cherry red and he resembled a sunburned elf.

"What the bloody hell is so funny?" Snape near-shrieked.

"Your fly is undone."

Severus immediately glanced down at himself and noticed that Albus was quite upsettingly correct.

"You see, Severus? You can hardly dress yourself. How do you expect to finish this potion unassisted?" Albus' eyes were twinkling.

Snape frowned and proceeded to reach downwards and securely zip his pants, immediately covering the hint of his black boxer briefs.

"You josh at a time like this?" Snape said, tight-lipped. His brow furrowed and he walked again to the window sill. "My habitual trousers have button closures, Albus. I have not worn these in years. I am hardly in a sound state of mind here, as you must realize, and I admit it only because you are so damned clairvoyant."

"Exactly my point."

When Severus disregarded reply, Albus said, "Miss Granger is the only one at Hogwarts that appreciates you as much as I do… Perhaps, I daresay, even more."

Snape snorted.

"It is true, Severus. She respects your methods. She is quite perceptive and intelligent and I am certain –"

"Too perceptive for her own good," Severus snapped. "I cannot deny that Miss Granger is our best student here, yet the fact remains that I cannot work with her!"

"Can't, Severus?... or won't?" Albus fixed his gaze to shiny black eyes that concentrated above him.

"Albus, please, on the contrary. Miss Granger has shown much less respect in recent weeks. Do not ask me to put myself through such agony. She is chattering, abrasive, and…" He paused. "She is unsettling, to tell you the truth. I cannot work well in such an environment. Our last conversation was most unpleasant and nearly turned violent. Lupin could accompany me."

"Severus, I will not deprive Hogwarts of two professors for a week. That is not wise. My decision is final. This potion is vital to our success." He sighed wearily. "I am tired now. Poppy will castrate you if she finds out you're in here this late. She probably will force me to stay in bed for another day and I must return to the office tomorrow. I have many things to do in the next month."

There was a long pause before Severus opened his mouth to argue again.

"My decision is final," Dumbledore replied.

"Then I must agree," Snape snapped and sharply nodded. "I am afraid I owe you everything."

The weight had only momentarily been released from his shoulders and the sadness had crept in again, clouding his vision for a swift moment. He longed for dreamless sleep.

When he turned to exit and lift the door latch, Albus spoke up once more in a tired voice.

"I know for a fact the last conversation you had with Hermione was in the garden. And I understand that it was hardly violent." He smiled. "When it comes to communication, you are impossible, Severus. You would be quite surprised if you simply allowed yourself to listen to what she has to say."


	17. Drug Eater, Death User

"The old bastard was doomed since he let Potter free Father's house-elf." Draco Malfoy cackled lazily, sprawled ungainly along the black leather sofa in the Slytherin Common Room. "It's about time he died, seriously. I'm just sorry we have to wait another month."

"What was he, Drake? Four hundred years old?" Pansy's stifled laugh fell awkwardly between herself and Draco. Her hands wrung painfully in her lap as she watched Draco sink further into the cushions as well as further into his own mind. Her eyes darted from his face to his pocket – from the couch, to the door, to the steps leading from the bedrooms – constantly reassuring herself that they were alone. The mascara caked on her eyelashes was so thick that it would have made her lids droop, if not for her nervous, rapid blinking. It gave her a strong resemblance to someone staring into the sun too intently. But of course, that's how all addicts appear when they're looking for a fix.

The Slytherin common room was, indeed, very quiet save for the sound of a sobbing student on the other side of Snape's office door. The professor was so wicked sometimes it was quite difficult to understand how he was permitted to stay in this blasted castle, Draco thought. He sighed in silent admiration and was reassured of why his Head of House was such a good Death Eater.

_"Mr. Creevey, you will clean up the mess you made this instant or I will personally see to it that Gryffindor loses five hundred points and that stupid hide of yours is trapped in detention for the next month!"_

Draco snickered lightly to himself at that and tossed a few peppermint pasties into his mouth piggishly.

The fire was blazing extra high so that the green dressings of the room had a sickly olive tone. The color fit the couple perfectly; one had green on her mind, and the other had green in his blood.

"Look, you want any of this shit anyway? It's not any good. I'm going to give it to Crabbe." Pansy removed a small vial from her pocket and proceeded to uncork and sniff. "The old hag in Knockturn Alley said it was good… stupid old fuck. Smells like garlic."

Draco sat up quickly and, reaching across the low table separating them, snatched the vial from her fingers so violently that she was pulled forward from her sitting position. As soon as she hit the floor, her chin-length black hair rubbed the opposite direction and stuck straight up from the abundance of hairspray she had used. It was actually quite lucky that it did not catch on fire considering how close to the hearth she had landed.

"Pansy, you dumb bitch, it _is_ garlic! How much did you pay the witch?" His grey eyes were furious.

"Ten Galleons," she replied timidly. "But you said-"

"I don't care what I said. Girls never do anything right. What the hell is the matter with you?" His pale pace had turned pink and he lowered it as soon as he noticed the noise in Snape's office had died down. "Do you even know what cocaine looks like?"

"Well to be honest, Draco, I never use _Muggle_ drugs."

"Coke is not a Muggle drug, Pans… You really don't know anything, do you?" He raised an eyebrow. "You've only ever been good for one thing anyway."

Pansy stood shakily and walked to the door of the girls' dorms. She was stiff and jittery from a prolonged withdrawal. "And you better believe you get none of that tonight."

"I'll fuck Daphne," he replied coldly, not even looking at her.

Pansy could admit she was hurt. All she'd ever done was for Draco or the Dark Lord and his behavior wasn't helping. She turned.

"I don't care." It was her way of showing him he wasn't everything. But she had always been a bad liar.

Draco smiled dangerously. "I'll fuck Yeva."

Pansy's inner dam collapsed and she spoke in a low, cracked voice. "Parajanov… you and Parajanov are… I knew it. You bastard! You are so like your father I could scream."

"In that case would you like some of my stash, slut?" Draco still did not look at her but instead pulled a packet of real cocaine from his inner robes. "Parajanov's a powerful witch… so pure. You must understand, pet, only the best for the Malfoys."

Pansy was dizzy. Her head was spinning and her feet felt light. Her face was pale and her eyes were dry. She needed the coke that he held, she needed it more than air.

Her terrible aching need for the drug made her bold. "I'll go to Snape," she said. "I'll tell him what you did to her…. He'll kill you! And you know he'll have no mercy. He loves that little bitch to death."

Draco's lush mood was replaced in an instant with unadulterated malice. A growl escaped deep from his throat and he rose from the couch ferociously. Pansy steeled herself against the ebony doorframe and tried to focus.

Draco was moving forwards… no back… no, yes backwards… towards the hearth. His hand outstretched and dangled the packet of narcotics over the flames.

Pansy couldn't help it. "No," she whispered. "Please, I'm sorry."

Draco chuckled. "That's right, slut." With a flick of his wrist he tossed it to her and it landed at her feet. "Not so fast." He snatched it away before she could grab it. And then he kicked her, hard.

She whimpered.

"Kiss my shoes, slut," he said.

She moved achingly to comply when he kicked her again, in the face, until her nose bled a deep maroon on the green carpet. Then he loomed threateningly and grabbed a fistful of her thick hair in his hands. He pulled her to her knees.

She dare not cry out for fear that he would not give her the drugs and she bit her lip instead.

He leaned in close until he could lick her ear. "You better believe I take after my father," he whispered. Dangling the coke in front of her face, he spoke again. "And if you interfere with my plans again you get no more of this, you understand?"

Pansy nodded through the pain as best she could with his hand fisted in her hair.

Three seconds of terrifying silence passed and he dropped her, as well as the drugs, on the blood spotted floor.

Pansy scrambled to grab the vial lest he snatch it away again, but as she turned he pulled his wand from his pocket.

She froze.

"You cross me one more time, Pansy, I swear I will kill you. You are worth very little in the Dark Lord's master plans. You understand me?" She nodded wordlessly. "I _will_ have my way, my dear," he said with a smile. "NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Pansy shot up the stairs without looking back and slammed the door.

"I know what you're doing you slimy rat." Yeva's eyes blazed from where she stood in the shadows of the darkest corner of the common room. Draco jumped from the sudden noise. "I will never fear you, Draco. Never. You have the discretion of a hippogriff… And I know what you're doing to the girls."

Draco's surprised stumble turned into a snobby pose. He raised his chin and narrowed his eyes, taking a few steps closer to where she stood. He would have liked to think that he looked powerful but instead it came off as foolish.

"Yeva, my sweet. Wherever did you get off to last night?" he asked sickly. "I missed you." He winked.

"You coward." Her voice seethed with rage and lowered to the basement of her register.

Draco swooped in suddenly and grabbed her wrists with both hands, slamming them against the wall behind her head, and breathed his sour breath onto her face.

"No one calls me a coward," he whispered threateningly. "No one ever calls me a coward."

"Until now, you mean." Yeva tried desperately to break free. The pressure he had placed on her body was one of the most disgusting things she had ever felt.

At the realization of her comment he slammed his hips into her stomach harshly until she could feel a bolt of pain along her spine as well as an extremely unwelcome bulge that formed in his groin.

"You have ten seconds to take that back or I will have to floo Father. We wouldn't want that now, would we?" His tone made her want to be sick and his breath smelled of garbage.

"Do what you want," she said defiantly. "Just be prepared for Severus to skin you alive. You know he will."

Draco backed away instinctively, as if he had just realized that Snape was in the next room. But he did not give up the fight.

"Whose side are you on, bitch?" he asked carefully, articulating each degrading word with his sloppy tongue. "Because recently, I'm not so sure anymore."

"Fuck you," she said simply.

"A pleasure. Truly though, pet. We might need to… set you straight." He took a step closer.

"Fuck you," she said again, louder. "You want to set something straight? Try _yourself_!"

Yeva certainly knew how to push his buttons.

A growl escaped his raspy throat and manifested in the cool air of the dim room. He took another step towards her.

She did not back down.

"You think giving Pansy and Daphne drugs is going to keep them quiet?" She sighed raggedly. "You'll never win like that, Draco. You don't know the first thing about strategy. You haven't known a thing about anything since you were in nappies."

"You bitch," he spat.

"Thank you." She smiled and stepped closer to him, showing him that she wasn't afraid in the slightest. "That is quite more than can be said for you. It's a shame you never allowed me to show you how to choose your battles. Some Death Eater you turned out to be."

In a flash Draco's whole arm swung to strike her face… and within inches of her skin, she caught it, glaring at his bewildered expression smugly.

"What is going on in here?" Snape's voice piped up from the doorway.

The two enemies froze.

Draco opened his mouth but, at a loss for words, he sputtered like an idiot.

"Nothing, Uncle. Only teaching Draco here some knew dueling tricks I learned at Durmstrang." The entire time she spoke she watched Malfoy's face for signs of rebellion, daring him to step out of line.

Snape studied them from a distance, trying to put two and two together as he examined the blood spot on the floor from Pansy and Draco's earlier match. After a few seconds, his headache took priority again and he lost interest.

"Just keep it down then," he snapped. "I'm ready to blow up Gryffindor tower."

Yeva chuckled, still not breaking eye contact with Draco.

"I'm sure no one down here will mind," she said.

Snape nodded and turned abruptly in a swirl of cloak, exiting the way he came.

Yeva finally dropped Draco's arm and shoved him till he stumbled backwards.

"Next time, ferret, try learning a bit more about who you're up against." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I am a Death Eater too, don't forget."


End file.
